


Secret's End

by OhMally



Series: The Secret in the Stars [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Away Missions, Exploration, Gen, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Prequel, Red Shirts, Space Pirates, USS Edison (Star Trek), USS Shenzhou (Star Trek), Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-07-08 11:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15929534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMally/pseuds/OhMally
Summary: This story is standalone semi-sequel to The Captain's Secret.A decade before the events of Discovery, Saru serves on the USS Shenzhou under the command of Captain Philippa Georgiou. A seemingly routine mission to rout some pirates turns into something else entirely when they encounter a previously unknown species of alien...“It is my honor to mentor young officers in Starfleet. Exceptional potential deserves exceptional recognition.”





	1. A Chance Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Secret's End, side-quel to my other fanfic, The Captain's Secret. You do not need to read the other fanfic to read this one. They are connected, but they are equally independent of each other.
> 
> If you have read the other one, there are a few secrets you'll spot right off the bat and and a few spots of retread, but this is a very different story told from a different perspective and with a different sequence of events. Think of it as a chance to discover the characters and some of the secrets anew and learn some secrets and answers the other story did not include.
> 
> Additionally, I am pleased to say that, in keeping with the same thing that made the Captain's Secret possible, the final chapter of this has already been written. Spoiler sentences, for those interested, are available [here](http://writesandramblings.tumblr.com/post/177461499652/spoiler-sentences-vol-ii).

Standing at the science station on the bridge of the USS _Shenzhou_ , Saru found no comfort in the acoustic soundscape of life aboard a starship, but after five years in space, he was growing accustomed to it. As he scanned for anomalies in an otherwise unremarkable region of space, he could pick out each individual component of what he was hearing: the faint thrum of the engines and warp field, the soft murmurs of the officers around him as they communicated with non-bridge crew across the rest of the ship, the blips of acknowledgment as his crewmates tapped commands into their consoles, and the almost imperceptible hiss of atmosphere through the environmental filters. He could identify, too, the direction of each of these noises, so he could tell when a computer blip came from the ops console ahead to his right or the tactical station off to the left—even with his eyes closed.

To most, this would have seemed a remarkable feat, but to Saru, it was a constant reminder of the fact he was a Kelpien—a sapient prey species shaped by millions of years of evolution on a planet where every bush, tree, and rock contained lurking danger. The net result of this long history of anxiety was that Kelpiens were always in a state of high alert for danger.

It had also given them a reputation as cowards which Saru could not wholly deny. As peaceful and calm as the bridge was at the moment, the fact that this could change in the blink of an eye was creating within him an impulse to run somewhere more predictably safe. He fought this instinct by focusing on what was in front of him at the science station. In a universe where every moment held potential chaos, science was a steady constant and Saru's greatest comfort.

Presently, his display was showing him a map of the local region. It was largely unremarkable. A couple of subspace eddies, a few planetary points of interest, all of it well-mapped and in no need of investigation. The  _Shenzhou_  was an exploratory vessel that had been temporarily retasked to deal with a regional group of pirates at the behest of a local government, the Dartaran Council. Normally such a task would be considered well beneath the  _Shenzhou_ 's prominence, but the Dartarans were in the process of considering Federation membership. Wiping out these pirates was seen as a positive step towards cementing the relationship and Starfleet wanted one of its most reliable on the job. That meant Saru's captain, Philippa Georgiou, whose presence commanded instant respect in this and many other regions of space. As soon as the  _Shenzhou_  figured out what well-mapped rock the pirates were hiding on, they would complete the mission and return to their regular exploratory duties.

For now, the patrol continued.

Saru sensed the danger before there seemed to be any evidence of it. The tiny, fleshy tendrils of threat ganglia along the back of his head tingled and emerged from beneath the flap normally concealing them. He brought his hand up towards the tendrils, wondering the cause and hoping no one had noticed.

"Commander, we're receiving a shortrange transmission," said the ensign on communications, Hasimova. "Dartaran in origin."

"Onscreen," was the command from the captain's chair. T'Vora, the  _Shenzhou_ 's first officer, waited impassively as this order was not carried out.

"The signal's distorted," said Hasimova, too embarrassed to play the messy noise over the bridge comms. "I can't translate it yet."

Saru understood the ensign's embarrassment all too well. He felt similarly about the writhing mess of ganglia on the back of his head. "There is a subspace eddy between us and the signal's origin," he offered. "Compensating." The task calmed him and his ganglia withdrew from sight.

Signal cleaned, Hasimova was able to pull it up on the viewscreen. What they saw astonished them.

"—lalilalulhallilinnlalanalenilalalanelamelimanlaluni—"

It was alien, that much was clear. The question was what  _kind_  of alien. It had grayish blue fur and a pair of enormous, almost perfectly-round, lidless green eyes with six pupil slits arranged in a ring. The color and arrangement reminded Saru of an Earth fruit he had recently tried called a "kiwi." The rapid stream of syllables coming out of the creature's mouth was unlike anything Saru had ever heard before. He could see its tongue fluttering to produce the wet, lilting sequence of sounds. It was wearing some sort of white garment, the collar just visible on the screen.

T'Vora hit the comm command on her armrest. "Captain to bridge. We have encountered an unknown species." Her finger lifted from the comm. "Cross-reference against the known species database."

"Yes, sir," said Saru, though like T'Vora, he already suspected this was a futile effort because the computer would have been able to translate the language if it belonged to a known species.

"—lemalunilalamelanalilianilililialemalal—"

"Where are we on translation?"

"Almost there," promised the ensign.

"—lalimilalilunilalamanilamili—me! Help me, please! Is there anyone there? Please, can anyone hear me? Help me! Hello, can someone please help me?" The universal translator rendered the voice as high-pitched in keeping with the alien's natural tone.

This was the sound that Captain Philippa Georgiou arrived to as she strode onto the bridge and T'Vora turned over the captain's chair.

"Status report."

"We're tracking a Dartaran transport broadcasting a distress signal," said T'Vora, moving to the tactical console and displacing an ensign back to observer status.

"Set a course to intercept and open a channel," ordered Georgiou, issuing commands as smoothly as if she had been there the whole time.

The alien continued its pleading unabated. "If there's someone out there, anyone, please, I need—" There was a beeping sound on the transmission as the  _Shenzhou_  hailed. The alien twisted its head in confusion. "Hello? Can you hear me? Is someone there? Hello? Hello?"

Georgiou's eyes were on Hasimova. The ensign sat with her hand to her ear pensively, shook her head, and sent the hail again. The alien began shifting, searching its console for the source of the beeps. Hasimova nodded her head sharply at Georgiou as the signal connected.

"Alien vessel, this is Captain Philipp—"

The alien's reaction was overwhelmingly enthusiastic. "I see you! You're human! Can you see me?"

If Georgiou was taken aback by the alien's interruption, she made no outward sign of it. "Yes, though I am unfamiliar with your species. This is the Federation starship  _Shenzhou_ , responding to your distress signal. What is the problem?"

"Feder... Federation. Nnnn..." Mention of the Federation seemed to dim the alien's enthusiasm. The alien tilted its head downward so the glassy surface of its eyes reflected the lights and displays of the navigational controls on its ship.

"Are you in need of assistance?" asked Georgiou.

"Nn," went the alien. "Yes, though..." Its hands came into view in front of its face, eight knobbly-knuckled fingers pressing together, four on each hand.

"We are prepared to help. Can you tell us your species?"

"I am a lului. My name is Lalana."

Georgiou sounded it out. "La-lu-na?"

The hesitation continued. "Nn. Lalana."

"Lalana"—it still sounded like  _laluna_  to Saru's ears when Georgiou said it—"we would be happy to help you if you tell us what is wrong."

Lalana's hands lowered to chin level. "I am attempting to escape."

"Captain," said T'Vora, "I'm detecting a second Dartaran vessel in pursuit of the first. An identical personal transport vessel."

"That is them! Please, please, don't let them take me back. I beg of you, help me!" The fingers on the viewscreen curled and began to rapidly knock together in some sort of agitation display.

"The pursuit vessel is broadcasting a message," reported Hasimova.

"Onscreen," said Georgiou. Lalana's image shifted to the left to make room for both signals.

Two Dartarans appeared, brown-skinned with orange streaks along their spiky jawlines. The smaller one said in a sharp, authoritarian tone: "Federation starship! We are in pursuit of stolen property. This is an internal Dartaran matter. No assistance is required. Repeat. Federation starship! We are..."

"Hail them. Dartaran vessel, this is the USS _Shenzhou_. The vessel you are pursuing is requesting our help. Identify yourselves."

The smaller Dartaran bristled visibly, her jaw spikes seeming to sharpen as the skin around them contracted. "No help is required. We are perfectly capable of handling this. The Federation holds no jurisdiction here."

"The pursuit vessel will engage its target in five-point-seven hours at present speeds," reported T'Vora. That seemed an excessively long timeframe. Saru noted the two ships were barely capable of warp two. He also noticed something else unusual, but he was not the one to speak the fact aloud, T'Vora did. "Captain, I am detecting no life signs aboard the lead vessel."

Lalana stared at them, her fingers still a mess of motion, the pupils in her eyes contracting and expanding. "You would not detect me, but if you will not help me, then will you kindly shoot me out of the sky? You have this ability, yes?"

The sounds of the starship came to the forefront again as the Dartarans and the crew of the  _Shenzhou_  fell silent and processed that request.

"That is not necessary," said Georgiou. "Dartaran vessel, am I to understand that you are in pursuit of a ship which was stolen from you?" The Dartarans shifted, exchanged a glance, but did not answer.

Lalana answered for them. "The ship is not the property they wish the return of. The property is me."

"He lies," said the female Dartaran. "We are his caretakers, captain, and wish only to bring him home safe. This is a... private issue."

There were two conflicting stories at play and no clear evidence of fault. Georgiou opted for a middle road approach. "This is not something which can be easily resolved over communications. We will therefore rendezvous with you and you may sort this out aboard the  _Shenzhou_. We will, of course, contact the Dartaran Council to advise us and make sure your laws are followed."

It was such a reasonable proposal the Dartarans were having a hard time throwing up objections to it. They glanced at each other again, not sure how to avoid this course of action.

On the left side of the viewscreen, Lalana's fingers pressed tightly together again. "I have no wish to trade one set of captors for another. I would sooner die free upon a starship of my own command than to subject myself to any Federation machinations. I will not have conditions placed upon me when I am already free among the stars as I have longed to be. I have survived the hunt, I have survived the holding, and I choose this death." That stated, Lalana's head drew back and slammed down face first against the ship's console with such force it sounded like two rocks striking together. Then the lului repeated the motion with a thwack that sounded like something breaking.

The sight disturbed everyone, even the Dartarans. "Stop!" said the larger Dartaran, his eyes refocusing in alarm. "Come home, we can—" The female Dartaran put a clawed hand on the male's arm and squeezed, hard.

Lalana did stop, for a moment. "Why would I go home with you? You do not even know my gender. I am not a male!"

It was a definitive nail into the coffin of the Dartarans' narrative. Georgiou said coolly, "We wish only to discern the truth of this matter. Once we have done so, then we will determine the best course of action for everyone, yourself included."

The female Dartaran abruptly cut their side of the feed, ostensibly to confer privately with her companion. That left Lalana onscreen and afforded Georgiou a moment to speak in equal privacy.

"Have you been held against your will?"

Lalana tapped her fingers together. "Not  _lailen_."

"The translator didn't get that," reported Hasimova. "Can you clarify  _lailen_?"

"Two and two is  _lailen_."

Hasimova's brow knit. If  _lailen_  meant four, the computer would have registered the word as such, but something was causing the translation matrix to balk. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't translate that."

"It is unimportant," said Georgiou. "We will help you if help is warranted. This I promise."

* * *

When the Dartarans resumed communications, they were resigned to their fate and accepted the rendezvous coordinates without further objection. Lalana was similarly amenable with the caveat that she did not possess the skills necessary to carry out the navigational request. "I do not know what 'coordinates' are and while I was able to make the ship start, I do not know how to make it stop."

The simplest solution was for someone to beam over to the transport and take control of the vessel. Commander Jones, one of the chief engineers, accepted the task. They matched warp speed to the Dartaran shuttle and initiated a transport.

Jones's assessment of the situation was immediate and unexpected. There was a problem.

"Captain, the control panel was damaged and the warp drive is stuck in a power cycle loop. I can't disengage it."

"I suppose I should not have hit the table with my face," said Lalana, clicking her tongue in a manner that had to indicate alarm at her predicament.

Jones ignored the commentary. "The drive will go critical in eight minutes."

"Beam them out," ordered Georgiou.

"I can't lock on to the alien, captain," was the reply from Garcia, the operations officer.

Georgiou mentally reviewed the Starfleet core breach checklist. "Can you jettison the core?"

"Negative, it's an integrated system."

There were no escape pods on the shuttlecraft. There were two emergency spacesuits. Jones held one up and looked at Lalana. "Let's try and get this on you."

"Six minutes to core overload," reported Garcia.

The spacesuit effort was not going very well. Jones gave it his best shot but once the puffy white garment Lalana was wearing came off, it became clear to everyone watching that Lalana's alienness extended well past her giant eyes and furry blue head. She was not humanoid. A long tail drifted behind her, thin for most of its length and terminating in a broad spoon shape. "Perhaps we should break my legs," she suggested.

"A containment crate!"

Everyone turned to look at Saru. The attention was enough to draw out his threat ganglia again; the sensation of so many eyes upon him was deeply unsettling. He sputtered a moment and pushed through the distress.

"A reinforced biological containment crate would withstand the vacuum of space and provide life support long enough to tractor it aboard. We have several in cargo bay three. We need only beam one over."

"Do it," said Georgiou. The crew hastened to comply in the remaining four minutes. Garcia contacted the cargo bay officer on duty and looped him in. Georgiou issued a quick set of commands to confirm their course of action for all: beam over a crate, put Lalana in the crate, jettison the crate from the shuttlecraft and tractor it. "That was an excellent idea, Mr. Saru."

"Thank you, captain," said Saru. There was something vaguely dazed in his tone. As important as coordinating Lalana's rescue was, he was preoccupied by something she had said before smashing her head against the console.

Georgiou rose from the captain's chair and moved towards the turbolift. Saru straightened slightly, mouth open as if he wanted to speak. Georgiou paused mid-stride and asked, "Something on your mind, Mr. Saru?"

"Captain, may I—may I—"

Georgiou's head twisted slightly in an indication she did not appreciate the stammer in a moment where time was of the essence.

"—meet our guest with you?"

"Come," Georgiou invited. Saru followed her into the turbolift with hands clasped in front of him. The doors slid shut and the turbolift began its path downward towards the shuttlebay.

"Captain, if I may draw your attention to something that was said during the transmission, Lalana made reference to a hunt."

"I heard the same."

"It is my impression she may have been hunted as my people once were."

Georgiou did not reply; that was equally obvious to her.

"It may be of benefit for our guest to have a non-human present when meeting us."

"It may," agreed Georgiou.

"Firsthand experience with an unknown alien species would additionally assist me in receiving first contact certification."

"Mr. Saru, you are already in the turbolift, you do not need to justify your presence further."

The turbolift doors opened. Georgiou strode out and Saru followed a moment later, realizing he had gotten bogged down in semantics in a moment when action was preferred. He mentally bemoaned his mistake. Semantics were part of how he processed things and it was an easy pattern to fall back into when he was feeling stressed, as he was right now.

They arrived as the cargo crate slipped through the containment field over the mouth of the shuttlebay. Jones was with it, tethered to the crate's lid. He rolled off and stood up as the crate touched the ground, prioritizing opening the container over removing his own spacesuit. Lalana's head and eyes popped up into view. She gripped the lip of the crate with four-fingered hands and twisted around, taking in the view.

"Captain, the shuttlecraft has exploded," T'Vora reported over the comms. Georgiou responded with thanks and approached the crate with Saru as Jones removed his suit helmet.

"It is very grey. Is it always this grey?" Lalana asked Jones.

"Yeah," said Jones.

"Nnh," was Lalana's response. She hopped out of the crate, revealing long, thin legs with an extra set of joints beyond the arrangement possessed by Kelpiens and humans. Viewed in full, her body had a configuration not unlike a gerboa. She used her tail as a counterbalance to the mass of her torso and spun her hands in front of her in a motion like a fruit fly.

Saru balked slightly at her unclothed state. He stared as Georgiou provided a standard greeting followed by a very specific circumstantial stipulation. "As we have not encountered your species before, we must place you under a medical quarantine, for your safety as well as ours."

"Place me below what?" responded Lalana.

"Containment in a medical facility," clarified Saru. "Until we are certain our species pose no risk to one another."

Lalana touched her tail to the floor for support and leaned stiffly back on her haunches. "Imprisonment," she said.

"No," said Georgiou. "It is standard procedure when meeting a new species. You will be free to go after you have been examined. Commander Jones, you will go as well."

"Yes, captain."

There was an open secret in the air. The crux of the issue was not exposure to new alien life, it was that said new alien life had not undergone transporter biofilter protocols. There was no reason for Jones to be quarantined—he could have undergone those protocols himself now that he was aboard—except to provide Lalana some form of accompaniment as reassurance of their benevolence.

Security officers arrived. Georgiou signaled them to provide escort. "Come, tell us how you came to encounter the Dartarans."

"Certainly. Four cycles ago, the  _Hla-pu_  came to Luluan in their ships and attempted to build structures on our planet..."

What followed was a detailed accounting of an alien invasion by a violent species intent on subjugating Lalana's homeplanet for unknown reasons. Georgiou and Saru listened intently as Lalana explained how the invaders had engaged in various methods of genocide against her people, including burning the forests her species lived in and unleashing biological agents into the air.

By the time they arrived in the medical bay, Saru had ascertained that the lului were not a prey species in the same sense as Kelpiens. Lalana's description made clear her people were not content to be victims of invasion. "Every time they came back, we fought them again, careful not to kill them but to destroy the implements of their colonization efforts and reduce their structures back to the component elements. Finally, the cycle concluded, the Hla-pu went away and were not seen again. We thought the issue to be resolved, but then the hunters came."

"The hunters were the Dartarans?" asked Georgiou.

"Oh, no, not until much later did the Dartarans arrive. The merchants came alone at first, to assess the value of the venture, and once they determined it was solvent, they began to bring their clients."

Saru realized Lalana was not giving them a direct explanation of her presence with the Dartarans so much as an accounting of her planet's history in significantly more detail than was usefully applicable.

The comms beeped. The Dartarans were aboard. Georgiou ordered T'Vora to escort their other guests to the conference room while the  _Shenzhou_ 's chief medical officer, Dr. Channick, instructed Lalana to move onto one of the medbay slabs and enacted a containment field until she could determine what threat, if any, Lalana posed.

Lalana reacted to the field by beginning to knock her knuckles together rapidly.

"Please, continue," said Georgiou.

"Nn." Lalana's twelve pupils constricted to slits. The level of detail in her account dropped to almost nothing. "There were many hunters in the three cycles following and then the Dartarans came and captured me and Lalaran and took us to their home."

"Another of your species?" Georgiou guessed.

"Yes. But he died shortly after arrival. He was not suited to captivity. I remained until I was able to take their ship and make my way to the stars. Then you found me."

Georgiou considered the totality of the story. "Lalana, can you tell us where your world is located?"

"In relation to what? I do not even know where I am now."

* * *

Georgiou left Saru to make what he could of their guest and proceeded to the conference room. T'Vora met her in the hallway outside and they entered together as a minor show of solidarity and strength.

The Dartarans were seated on the far side of the table facing the door in a defensive position, their backs to the stars outside the window. The female Dartaran, Margeh, rose as they entered. Her husband, T'rond'n, remained seated in a manner that felt vaguely subservient, his hands stuffed into the billowy cloth of his long-sleeved robe.

"Captain Georgiou," began Margeh, leaning forward with her hands on the table.

Georgiou was calmly accusatory as she and T'Vora sat down across the table. "You lied to me," she said. "You identified yourselves as caretakers."

"We are," said T'rond'n.

"Keeping a sentient species hostage? Perhaps the word means something different in your language."

Margeh's claws tightened, her nails scraping faintly on the conference table's matte surface. "Captain, until today, we did not even know he—she could speak!"

As incredible as that assertion was, there was no indication from either that this was anything short of the truth and Lalana's capacity to refute the claim reduced their incentive to lie significantly. "Then tell me, how did you come to meet Lalana?"

The picture Margeh and T'rond'n painted was much clearer than Lalana's.

They were hunters. They made no effort to hide this fact. It was a hobby they shared and enjoyed primarily in the privacy of their own estate, which they kept stocked with the most challenging game they could find. "We do not typically kill our prey," explained Margeh. "We simply enjoy the art of tracking and disabling them."

Their hobby had drawn them into contact with other hunters, including an Eska who had been on an expedition with a group of Gentonians to hunt "the most elusive prey in the known universe." A species that could camouflage itself into its surroundings, had no heat signature, and did not show up on standard scanners. "A challenge like no other," their Eska friend promised.

It was an opportunity Margeh and T'rond'n could not pass up. "If we had known they were sentient, we would never have gone!" Margeh assured. She remained standing as she recounted these events, pacing and occasionally gripping the table, chairs, and T'rond'n with her pinprick-sharp claws.

"It was our understanding they were mere animals," said T'rond'n. "The lului has been... has been in our house for years, captain. We intended it no harm."

"In that time, it never spoke," said Margeh. Then she repeated, again, what she felt to be the crucial detail of their involvement: "We do not kill our prey."

There was the matter of the other dead lului, Lalaran. "That one also did not speak?" queried T'Vora.

"It died shortly after we brought it home," explained Margeh. She finally sat down. "There was... The man in charge of the expedition, Eggal or something similar, insisted on changing the other lului's tongue so it would cease making incessant noise. He said it was standard procedure."

"Changing?"

"Cutting it, as you would a malspat's tail," said T'rond'n. Though neither Georgiou nor T'Vora knew that a malspat was a spike-tailed creature often kept as a Dartaran pet once its tail spike was removed, both understood the implication.

"We did not cut the—it— _her_  tongue because she did not make noise like the other one. We thought she was abnormal, deficient. She was very easy to catch. It seemed kinder to remove her from her native environment than leave her there. She could not even properly camouflage herself. Another hunter would have taken her easily."

Georgiou considered the Dartarans. Between their story and Lalana's lay something that felt like the truth. Neither side contradicted the other, but their combined inability and unwillingness to communicate the two sides of the narrative had led them both to a collective point of misunderstanding. Georgiou folded her hands on the conference table. She had only one question to ask in light of this information.

"Would you help us contact these people who arranged your hunting trip?"

"Of course, captain. We will help you in any way we can."

* * *

Things were not going so smoothly in the medical bay. "I don't know what to do," Channick admitted, tugging on her ear with annoyance. "Literally none of these scans are working."

"Optical and sonar only," said Lalana. Her pupils were still heavily constricted and she was hunched on top of the medical slab with her tail circled around the base of her body, creating the impression she was a single, solid jellybean shape. Jones stood off to the side, entirely disinterested in the proceedings and dismayed at being stuck in sickbay for the sole purpose of good optics. He wasn't even supposed to be on this shift, except Georgiou's regular first-shift chief engineer, Commander Dahan, was on leave.

"Perhaps I can adjust the electromagnetic scanners to compensate," suggested Saru.

"I will not register. My electromagnetic radiation field is indistinguishable from the background noise of the universe."

"How can that be?" asked Saru.

Lalana said nothing.

"Is there something bothering you?"

"It is very bright."

The medbay was one of the best-lit areas of the ship. "Computer, lights to eighty percent," said Channick, and the light dimmed.

"Not those lights, the wall," said Lalana.

Saru pressed his hands together thoughtfully, connecting her words to an earlier observation. "Do you mean the biological containment field?"

"The wall of particles? Yes."

"You can see that?" asked Channick.

"You cannot?" They could, but only when it was being turned on, off, or actively containing something. All other times, it was transparent to Saru and the humans in the room.

"I can't turn it off," lamented Channick. "There might be parasites, or toxins... I'm sorry, I don't know anything about your species. Can you tell me what sort of diseases or illnesses you're prone to?"

"No."

Hasimova had come down from the bridge and was fiddling with the translation matrix on one of the medbay monitors. She changed a few settings. "Diseases and illnesses," she repeated, setting the translator to render the words in Dartaran.

"No," said Lalana again.

"Help me out here," said Channick. "I can't scan you. I can't turn the iso field off until I confirm you're safe."

"I will attempt to adjust the isolation field to a more comfortable frequency," suggested Saru, largely as an aside for his own benefit because no one else was paying him any attention. He located an open workstation and began to contemplate the medical isolation field mechanics and how they might be affecting lului eyes.

"I am not safe," said Lalana.

Channick found something to be optimistic about in the statement, damning as it sounded. Her face lit up. "Great! Can you tell me how?"

"I have been captured by the Federation."

"Not 'safe' as in 'endangered,'" Hasimova clarified, identifying the issue and adjusting translation to compensate. "'Safe' as in 'not dangerous.'" (This, thought Saru as he listened in, really only addressed half the issue at hand, because in no way had Lalana been captured by the _Shenzhou_ , despite the temporary medical detention.)

After a brief discussion about the nuances of the language being used, Lalana revised her answer to, "I am not dangerous."

"Maybe not you directly, but there might be microorganisms on you... I guess we'll spot-test some decon protocols." Whatever danger Lalana might pose, Channick was equally determined not to harm the lului by subjecting her to any medical procedures that might be incompatible with her biology.

"I am microorganism- _lulu_." The translator rendered the voice with no discernible change in tone, but it felt like Lalana was growing aggravated and sullen as a result of her ordeal.

Saru changed one of the sub-settings in the isolation field. Lalana sat up and began spinning her hands, her pupils dilating back to their previous width.

"Thank you! That is much better, individual whose name I do not know!"

The idea that this encounter was going to be the impetus for earning first contact certification suddenly seemed an entirely remote possibility to Saru. He had been in Lalana's company for over twenty minutes and failed to introduce himself. "I am Lieutenant Junior Grade Saru."

"Then I am pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Junior Grade Saru. And what are your people called?"

"I am a Kelpien."

"I have never met a Kelpien before. Your people must not be very good hunters." Her tongue clicked.

Saru registered the clicks as another agitation response, likely a result of Lalana recalling her experience being hunted. Lului might not be prey in an evolutionary sense, but in a broader sense, they had this condition in common with Kelpiens. Saru's shoulders softened in sympathy. "I think you will find our species have many things common."


	2. A Measured Response

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the immense delay, we had a huge surge of projects this month at work. I worked 30 hours of overtime at one point! Luckily, since my day job is writing, I enjoy it, but it left precious little time for recreational writing. Which isn't to say that I didn't find moments here and there to write a bit. Just that there weren't enough of them to finish the chapter until now, and I mostly wrote a bunch of future scenes. ([Spoiler sentences](http://writesandramblings.tumblr.com/post/177461499652/spoiler-sentences-vol-ii) have been updated accordingly.)
> 
> Readers of TCS will note the crew of the Shenzhou is somehow simultaneously much better and much worse than the Triton's...

Gradually, the situation in the _Shenzhou_ ’s medbay resolved itself—with some help from the Dartarans.

“We have never had any issue with the lului in the sense of biological contaminants,” Margeh assured Georgiou. Lalana had been living with them for six years and encountered humans and several other species with no ill effects suffered by any parties. There was also the point that, by Margeh’s description, the Gentonians running the hunting expeditions were extremely cautious and catered to a wealthy clientele whose health they valued. If Lalana or her species posed any risk, the Gentonians would have said as much before allowing Margeh and T’rond’n to take a pair of them home.

T’Vora passed this information along to Dr. Channick, who subsequently decided Lalana was less a threat to the ship and more a potential patient given the length of her captivity. This still left a central question unresolved.

“How am I supposed to know if you’re in good health?” Channick asked after the isolation field came down. She remained at a dead end with her attempts to run medical scans. Saru had been equally unsuccessful at ascertaining any scanner adjustments that would do more than provide a basic physical map of the surface of Lalana’s body. “You’ve been captive for a long time.”

“It was not so long,” said Lalana. “Not even a half of a half of a half of a half of a cycle. And I am entirely undamaged by it.”

“A cycle, is that a measurement of time for your species?” asked Saru.

“Yes. I am seven cycles of age.”

Saru followed the math without trouble. If Lalana had been captive for six years, then six was half of twelve, twenty-four, forty-eight, ninety-two. Except that would make Lalana close to seven hundred years old. Probably she was not being literal and her sense of time was confused after being separated from her natural day/night cycle for so long.

“When you say that,” Saru began, only to be cut off by Channick.

“Thing is, even if there aren’t any physical wounds, there’s the issue of long-term malnutrition. How was your diet? Were you ever sick? Any lethargy?”

Whatever Hasimova was doing with the translation was not having the intended effect. Lalana remained flummoxed by Channick’s inquiries. “Bad nutrition? How are nutrients bad?”

“Malnutrition—weakness from not eating the right foods.”

“I do not understand. Correct foods?”

“What do you typically eat on your planet?” asked Saru in an attempt to head off what seemed to be an entirely misguided line of medical questions towards an alien that clearly had little notion of medical concepts.

“Whatever I want to.”

Channick frowned. Saru’s inquiry had not ended up much more helpful than hers and she considered her own versions of the questions more important than his. “Plants, meat, fruit...”

“Yes,” said Lalana. “Anything which contains the components I require.”

So, she was an omnivore. “Perhaps I could bring you an assortment of food items and you can tell us what most resembles the food sources on your planet,” suggested Saru.

Lalana’s hands spun. “Yes, that would be lovely, Lieutenant Junior Grade Saru! You have such a long name, is there a shorter version of it?”

Saru stood there with his hands pressed together feeling moderately embarrassed as Hasimova and Channick stared at him with less than impressed expressions. This whole experience was starting to feel like a disaster. Saru desperately wanted to run out of the room and hide in the darkest corner he could find. His ganglia itched along the back of his head. “Lieutenant junior grade is my rank. Saru is my name. ‘Lieutenant Saru’ will suffice.”

The last thing Saru heard as he made his exit was Hasimova wondering aloud, “Do you want us to get you some clothes to wear?” Lalana’s response to this was not verbal: she stuck the full length of her tongue out at them and coiled it like a spring.

Gathering the various foodstuffs gave Saru a chance to collect his thoughts. What was happening in the medbay right now felt like chaos and he greatly disliked chaos. What they needed was a clear, direct plan of action and information gathering, not this hodgepodge of meandering questions dancing around important information as to who Lalana’s people were. They needed to be taking a scientific, not conversational, approach.

When he returned to the medbay armed with a tray of delicacies arranged in a series of small glass sauce bowls and a padd containing a plan that would hopefully resolve all their many issues, he found Channick finally engaged in a moment of breakthrough.

“Your question is flawed,” Lalana was saying. “How can I tell you what does not exist?”

“No diseases, no illnesses?” They were back to that line of questioning with the crucial difference that now Channick was realizing Lalana’s earlier answer in the negative was not willful obstinance but an expression of an inability to answer because the question itself was based on a faulty assumption. “But your cells, when they degrade or suffer trauma...”

“If unrepairable, they are reconsumed for materials and energy by the cells surrounding, or in the event of catastrophic contamination, they are eliminated externally.”

Channick tugged at her ear as she processed this information. In Saru’s absence, she had determined the issue with the translator was not that Lalana lacked knowledge of medical biology, but that her knowledge was an order of magnitude beyond the burgeoning translation matrix. As Channick’s questions and explanation became more technical, the computer adjusted its translations accordingly and now doctor and patient were approaching a point of didactic parity. “Can you regenerate all your tissues?”

“What is tissue?”

“Specialized cell group. Like, lung tissue is the cells used for respiration.”

“Nn, no, I am not the tissues, the tissues are the framework upon which I am around. I am the cells, and I do not regenerate, only repair as needed. A dead cell cannot be revived. New cells are created if required, but typically the cells which are me are sufficient.”

Hasimova squinted at the display on her commandeered station, not quite certain of the translation. “The cells which are you?”

“Yes. I am cells. You are also cells, you simply do not know it.”

“We know we’re made up of cells,” said Channick.

”Yes, but you do not know your cells, and your cells do not know they are you.”

That was the phrasing Channick needed to finally make sense of what Lalana was saying. “You have an awareness of your cells?”

“I am cells speaking to you in organization with the assistance of my structural tissues which enable me to operate on the same scale as you do.”

Channick wavered, feeling a sudden need to sit down, but there were no chairs in this part of the medbay. She put her hand on the nearest medical slab as her mind swirled with the implications. There was a paper in here, likely a few of them, and perhaps even a nomination for the prestigious Carrington Award. If she could determine the mechanism by which the cells were aware and their relationship to the tissue structures, not to mention the nature of the repair mechanism...

While Channick processed this, Saru put the tray of food down beside Lalana and accessed the padd. “I have several questions for you organized by subject.”

“Certainly,” said Lalana, sticking her tongue out into the bowl nearest her, which contained lettuce.

The moment Lalana’s tongue touched the leafy green, the entirety of her body turned a matching shade, replete with striations of lighter green that mimicked the lettuce veins. Saru, Hasimova, and Channick were amazed by the sight. Lalana’s “fur” (which it was now clear was anything but) even seemed to have arranged itself into clumps resembling leafy frills. The only thing left unchanged were her immense, lidless green eyes. They remained a shade of green far brighter than the lettuce.

Lalana rolled the lettuce leaf up in her tongue and pulled it whole into her mouth. “This I can eat,” she said once her tongue was returned to its normal position. Next, she stuck her tongue out into a bowl containing a small piece of cooked chicken. She turned the same brownish color as the chicken and her fur flattened, making her much the same color and texture as Saru. Then she withdrew her tongue, declaring the chicken edible but not opting to consume it.

“Remarkable,” said Channick. “Do you do this with everything you eat?”

“Oh, no, this is a game Margeh and T’rond’n enjoyed having me perform for guests, so I thought you would enjoy it.” Her tongue next went to a slice of orange, producing the most wonderful color effect as she mimicked both the rind and pulp. Hasimova gasped in delight.

“If I may begin,” said Saru, glancing at the padd. The first section was labeled _Biology_. The first question under the heading involved respiration and was clearly moot because Lalana was breathing the same air they were and therefore came from an M-class planet, but there might be nuances to her respiration which merited definition, especially now that she had established herself as a very different form of life. Saru took a breath and opened his mouth to ask the first question.

“That is most impressive,” Captain Georgiou’s voice cut in. She was standing in the medbay entrance, as imposing a figure as ever as her eyes scanned the scene in clear appraisal. “Lalana, your former captors have agreed to assist us in locating your planet and wish a chance to apologize to you. If you do not wish to hear them out, I fully understand.”

“I will hear them out,” said Lalana, shifting back to her previous blue-grey tone. Georgiou gestured towards the open door and Margeh and T’rond’n entered.

“Lalana,” managed Margeh, digging the claws of one hand into the other. “Whatever possessed you to keep this from us...” Georgiou’s tongue clicked in disapproval.

“We apologize,” declared T’rond’n, his voice a low boom compared to his wife’s. “We did not realize that you were... as you are. That does not excuse what happened, but we hope you will forgive us.”

“Certainly,” said Lalana, which seemed generous of her.

“We will do everything we can to assist in ending the hunt of your people,” promised Margeh.

Georgiou spoke again. “There are Federation laws which govern planets like yours which do not have warp drive technology. These laws dictate that we do not interfere with the evolution of your species. To that end, the Federation will endeavor to return you to your planet and stop this atrocity from occurring further.”

Lalana’s hands pressed tightly together—intently, thought Saru—and she said, “That would be... How will you do this?”

 “Together, as is the Federation way,” said Georgiou.

* * *

Seated in the middle of the conference table staring out at the stars, Lalana had little new information to offer Georgiou. Aside from the history of invasion and hunting, she knew of no interstellar landmarks that might assist them in locating her planet and possessed no information on the Gentonians who were ransacking her world for profit. “It was a red star,” Margeh offered. She, Georgiou, and T’rond’n were sitting around the table in the chairs surrounding it, as intended.

“How would you know?” asked Lalana, tilting her head backward at an angle that suggested her neck bones were capable of spontaneously disconnecting.

Margeh bristled. It was a well-known fact Dartaran visual range was limited when it came to the lower bands of the spectrum. “Because the star was not very bright and was much closer to the planet than most. It could only have been red.”

“There were very few stars visible,” recalled T’rond’n. “The atmosphere must have been thick.”

“The air did smell thick,” said Margeh firmly. What Dartarans lacked in color perception, they more than made up for in other ways. “And the Gentonians are on Risa. We have the contact name written down somewhere, I am sure of it. If you could just bring us back to our home, we will find the name in short order.”

“We have already been in contact with the Risian authorities. They will provide a list of Gentonians on the planet.”

“Our home is only a few hours travel for you,” said Margeh. It was not the first time she had suggested to Georgiou that the _Shenzhou_ provide them a free ride back at speeds much faster than the personal transport currently parked in the _Shenzhou_ ’s shuttle bay could manage.

“We are already engaged on a mission,” replied Georgiou curtly. (Which was true, but while Georgiou was mediating this situation, the pirate mission was on hold. Georgiou simply had no interest in playing chauffeur for the Dartaran couple.)

The comms pinged. “Captain, incoming transmission from Risa.”

“Put it through,” said Georgiou, pleased by the speed of the Risians’ response. The Risians were nothing if not accommodating—as eager to please a far-off Starfleet captain as they were the many tourists who visited their planet.

The woman who appeared on the conference viewscreen was the exact sort of living advertisement for Risa that the Risian Hedony liked to employ as a first point of contact. She was stunningly beautiful, with waves of honeyed hair cascading down her shoulders, deep green eyes, and sun-kissed skin. A traditional Risian disc adorned her forehead and an array of tropical flowers filled the frame behind her. If the woman found anything odd about the sight of a Federation captain, two Dartarans, and a blue alien sitting on top of a table, she showed no outward sign of it. “Warm welcomes from Risa, the most pleasant planet in the galaxy. Minister Karrin has readied the data you requested. Please stand by for transmission.” She pressed a button on her console. The _Shenzhou’s_ computer registered receipt. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“For the moment, this will suffice,” said Georgiou, smiling. “We will be in touch again shortly.”

“Certainly,” said the woman. “Let us know if you require anything else. We’re more than happy to be of service. Thank you for contacting Risa.”

“Thank you,” said Georgiou, lingering a moment before terminating the connection.

Images, names, and visa details of all the Gentonians on Risa during the period of time six years ago when the Dartarans had arranged their hunting trip appeared on the conference room viewscreen. Georgiou gestured for Margeh, T’rond’n, and Lalana to make of the images what they could.

Lalana moved to the edge of the table nearest the viewscreen, letting Margeh and T’rond’n control the scroll of images while she watched from between their shoulders. Yellow and green faces with whisker-like protrusions above their mouths flitted by. Most were merchants or traders—Gentonians were consummate traders—but there were several tourists in the mix along with the full staff directory of the Gentonian embassy. T’rond’n startled. “There! That is the one. I am certain of it.”

The Gentonian in question had pale yellow skin with brownish spots. The name beneath the image was “Beldehen Venel.” He was listed as having a merchant license associated with a company called Starway Traders and his current visa status was “ _ACTIVE, ON PLANET_.”

“Computer, display all Starway Traders employees.” Seven Gentonians appeared. “Do you recognize any others?”

Margeh and T’rond’n took their time studying the other names and faces. “No,” concluded Margeh. “The only one we ever saw on Risa was Venel, and none of these Gentonians were on the ship that took us to the planet.”

“Lalana?” prompted Georgiou. “Do you recognize any of them?”

“Nn,” went Lalana, “I do not.”

“Venel was not on the expedition himself,” said Margeh. “He merely arranged our transport.”

Georgiou pressed the intercom button on the conference table console for the bridge. “Please contact Minister Karrin on Risa.” The communications officers on the bridge responded in the affirmative. Georgiou considered Lalana and suggested, “Perhaps you would like to sit in a chair?”

“No,” said Lalana lightly, curling her tail around her legs.

The response from Risa was swift. This time, the Risian woman did not appear on the screen. Instead, a hologram of a male Risian appeared standing in the conference room with brown skin, dark hair and eyes, and an effusive smile. He had the same traditional disc on his forehead and was wearing a blue suit with a white sash. “Captain Georgiou,” he greeted, clearly expecting her.

Georgiou wasted no time. “We have identified a person of interest in an ongoing violation of Starfleet’s General Order One.” With a flick of her finger, Georgiou sent Venel’s details to Karrin. “I am with two Dartarans and a member of the aggrieved species who can corroborate this violation. According to the data you sent, the individual is on Risa at present. He must be detained immediately.”

Karrin’s smile faltered. Risians disliked the appearance of police authority. Risa was largely a safe place to visit, but it was not without its share of crime, mostly because the Risians found it preferable to compensate victims after the fact than to foster an atmosphere of oppressive security that would more fully prevent incidents. “General Order One?”

“Exploitation of a pre-warp species,” clarified Georgiou. On the conference table, Lalana began to knock the knuckles of her hands together. T’rond’n noted this with concern but remained quiet and still in his seat.

“That is...” Karrin’s face clouded. A moment later, it cleared into firm resolve. “We’ll assist in any way we can.” He took a step to the side, pressing a finger to an unseen console on his end of the transmission. “Sollis, are you available?”

The Risian woman from before appeared on the conference room viewscreen as she patched herself into the transmission. “Yes, minister.”

“Can you locate someone for us? Discreetly.”

“Certainly.” It took her only a moment to perform the task. “Beldehen Venel left Risa twenty minutes ago.”

Thirty minutes ago, the _Shenzhou_ had requested information on Gentonians from the Risian authorities. That simple request had evidently been enough to tip Venel off.

On the table, Lalana clicked her tongue. “Oh, that is too bad,” she said. “It seems I will never return home now.”

* * *

Saru was convinced of his overall failure in the meager soft first contact task he had requested, so it came as a welcome surprise when Georgiou ordered him to escort Lalana to guest quarters from the conference room. He appeared at the door and stood in stiff, observant attention, his padd of questions still in hand. Lalana amiably strode out to join him in the hallway without a single word of farewell towards Georgiou, Margeh, or T’rond’n. Her only words were to Saru. “Shall we go?”

Saru looked across the conference room at Georgiou. She seemed mildly amused by this lapse of decorum. Not all aliens placed the same value on the niceties that fell under the heading of human good manners, as common as the basic concepts of greeting and farewells were across most cultures and species. “Captain?” called Saru, seeking her permission. Georgiou responded by merely waving her hand at him dismissively and the doors slid shut.

Lalana stared up at Saru expectantly, balancing on a combination of her legs and tail. Saru made a gesture of his own, indicating the direction of the nearest turbolift. “This way.”

Absent a human escort, Saru took a large step in the indicated direction. He was about to self-correct himself to a shorter stride when he realized Lalana matched the distance without trouble and seemed to be perfectly at home doing so. Though she was barely a third of his height, she had very long legs with an extra joint that made them stretch out more horizontally than vertically. He opted to continue at his natural walking gait and felt strangely reassured by the way she glided down the hallway at his side.

“I feel I should inform you,” he said when the wonder of the moment had passed, “humans and many other species find it customary to offer words when arriving and departing a location.”

“Yes, I have observed this behavior often,” said Lalana as they arrived at the turbolift doors.

Which meant she knew how it worked. Had her wordless departure been an intentional slight against the others in the room? Saru asked as delicately as he could, “Your people do not have such a custom?”

“No. This is not something my people typically do.”

That would seem to explain it, then, though Saru imagined she might well harbor lingering resentment towards the Dartarans for their role in her captivity. The turbolift arrived and they stepped inside. “It was very magnanimous of you to accept the Dartarans’ apology despite what they did to you.”

“What they did to me?”

“Yes, hunting you and keeping you captive for so many years.”

“It was not so long and I do not mind it,” said Lalana. “It is over now regardless.” The turbolift doors opened onto deck four and they exited. “Now I suppose I shall have to watch Federation walls.”

“Certainly not,” Saru assured her. “We will bring you back to your planet. Captain Georgiou is a very accomplished captain and will no doubt be successful.”

“Nnn,” hummed Lalana. “And if she is not? What then?”

Saru pressed his fingers together uncertainly. He did not doubt Georgiou’s success and had not given the possibility much thought. Thinking on it now, he found he had no answer. “We will deal with that eventuality should it come to pass. I assure you, the Federation will provide whatever accommodations you require.”

“As Margeh and T’rond’n did?”

That gave Saru pause. Twice now he had heard Lalana describe the Federation in unflattering terms. First, over the ship-to-ship communications, where she had declared herself uninterested in being subjected to “Federation machinations,” and then in the medbay, where she had described herself as having been “captured by the Federation.”

“We will not confine you,” promised Saru. “The purpose of the Federation is to unite the peoples of many worlds so that we may collectively flourish in an environment of peaceful cooperation, and to provide freedom, justice, and opportunity for all citizens.”

Lalana’s hands suddenly began to spin. “Is it? I have always heard that the Federation is largely interested in regulating and restricting trade.”

“That is demonstrably untrue,” said Saru, wondering where she would have gotten that idea.

“I wonder which is more true, the description a person has of themselves, or the descriptions others have of the person.” They had arrived at the guest quarters. Lalana went straight to the window and the vista of stars. She looked out for a moment, then turned to Saru, hands still spinning. “Whether the walls are Dartaran or Federation, it has been worth it to meet a new form of life which I had not seen previously.”

“That is... why I joined Starfleet,” said Saru, surprised.

“Then you were right. We are not so different. Now, what questions did you have to ask?”

 


	3. Don't Sit Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, it is surprisingly hard to craft an alien parable out of thin air! I managed it in the end.
> 
> Also, am in Birmingham this weekend for Destination Star Trek. Feel free to drop me a line if you are as well!

The scientific inquest continued all through the night. “Are you not tired?” asked Saru when the hour began to grow late and his duty shift had long since ended. They were sitting at the dining table in the guest room, the taller chairs slightly more comfortable for Saru than the softer couch and armchair on the other side of the room, while Lalana perched atop the table with her appendages tucked beneath her body.

“I do not require sleep,” she said. “But if you are tired, then by all means, Lieutenant Saru, I will wait for you to rest.”

“Kelpiens do not require as much sleep as most other species. I was merely concerned that you might.”

“No. My cortex system requires rest occasionally, but I can cycle through resting portions of it, and of course I am always awake on the cellular level.”

That was one of the many amazing things Saru had been able to examine more thoroughly in the inquest. Lalana was not possessed of a single mind, but in a sense, had one plus a trillion. Her species was the result of symbiotic evolution between a colony of cells and a primitive multicellular organism. Her eyes, brain stem, skeletal structure, and tongue were all derived from the organism, but the cell colony had replaced every other tissue and was essentially controlling the organism’s structural remains like the _Ophiocordyceps unilateralis_ fungus did in certain species of Earth ants. It was an inverse of the typical model of life in the known universe, where a centralized brain controlled the rest of an organism. Here, the rest of the organism controlled the “brain.” Her cortex structure was less a true center of cognitive function and more a switchboard for the rest of her.

“Is it possible for individual cells to disagree?” Saru wondered.

“Why would we?” asked Lalana. Further forays into this line of questioning revealed that the idea was as inconceivable to her as the concept of a lului disease. “My cells chose to be me.”

There were also several questions from Dr. Channick and her staff as to the particular physical characteristics of Lalana’s biology. “Your cells change color, can they also change physical configuration?”

“Not entirely. My cells are locked together permanently. If one becomes disconnected, it immediately degrades.” She demonstrated this for Saru, letting a single tendril of her “fur” fall from her tail. It fell to the table and writhed faintly as it dissolved into a thin line of oily residue that seemed to evaporate into the air before Saru’s eyes.

It also turned out Lalana was being entirely literal where the length of her captivity relative her age was concerned.

“A cycle is not the length of time it takes Luluan to orbit Luluanilem,” she informed him when he asked about the concept in more detail. _Luluanilem_ was the name of the lului star system—while language was not a primary focus of Saru’s inquest, he was learning a great deal about it as they spoke. Essentially, the lului language was composed of complex layers of modifiers. _Lu_ was the name for the cellular species, _lulu_ was a group of cells coupled with a symbiotic structure into a discrete microcellular organism, _lului_ was an adjective or possessive used for the collective species, while _Luluan_ meant lulu-planet and _Luluanilem_ was lulu-planet-star. “Luluan’s orbit is not so long. It would be very tedious to use it as a... calendar unit.” The concept of a calendar was foreign to Lalana’s species, but she understood it well enough from living with the Dartarans. “We measure time by a _lulala_.”

“A... _lulala?_ ” They were also filling in translator gaps as they went.

“A streaming white space object which orbits our star.”

A comet. Their version of a year was a comet cycle, and when Saru ran the calculations based on the length of the day on the moon where the Dartaran couple lived and Lalana’s assurance that she understood the difference in day length between that moon and her homeworld within a reasonable degree of accuracy, he ended up with an estimated cycle length of one hundred and twenty-five years.

The current cycle had been more than three-quarters of the way through when Lalana was taken from Luluan, making her more than nine hundred years old. Suddenly the idea that six years of captivity was unremarkable made complete sense.

It also meant the mysterious planetary invaders, the _Hla-pu_ , had come to Luluan some five hundred years ago. Saru found himself listening to an unintended aside into this history when he asked another of Dr. Channick’s questions on the subject of lului and disease.

“It is not correct to say my cells are universally resistant, certainly there are things which can kill me. The Hla-pu employed a biological agent against my people in one of their many attempts to colonize our planet. I was aboveground when they deployed it. It moved through the air, a cloud of purple smoke that stripped the leaves from the trees. I made it into the water before the smoke could reach me, but Lumlala was not so lucky. Half his body was consumed by the smoke. It melted away his cells and left only his skeletal system on one side.” Her hands knocked together in clear distress at this memory but stilled as she concluded, “We were able to salvage what remained of him and, not long after, the Hla-pu left.”

For all the atrocity of being hunted, Saru could scarcely imagine the horror of what Lalana was describing. He sat there in shocked silence.

The door chimed. It was Georgiou. Saru rose unsteadily to his feet. “Have you been here all night?” Georgiou asked, mistaking the unsteadiness for fatigue.

“I...” For once, Saru’s inability to answer had nothing to do with his usual nerves. Not that Georgiou could tell.

“This is why I do not keep important information on the cells on my surface,” Lalana continued as if Georgiou had not entered. “Do you know, when the hunters take trophies like our skulls, they think those trophies are us, but they are not us, they are the framework upon which we sit!” Her tongue clicked, likely because this practice reminded her of the horrible fate of Lumlala.

“Am I interrupting?” asked Georgiou.

“Of course,” said Lalana. “What have you come to say?”

Georgiou managed not to take offense at Lalana’s insubordinate disregard for the rank of captain. She was, after all, dealing with a more primitive species then the average spacefarer. “It would seem Beldehen Venel has escaped. We are working to secure a connection to your homeworld and your people, but at present I cannot guarantee our success in these endeavors.”

“Is that so?” said Lalana, spinning her hands. Saru had his back to her and did not notice the motion. He would have been very confused if he had. Over the course of their conversation, he had gotten the impression that spinning hands were a sign of happiness.

“We will continue to investigate. Until more is known, we will escort you to a Federation starbase. The authorities there will provide you with further assistance.”

The hand-spinning ceased. “A star-base? What is a star-base?”

“A structure in space,” supplied Saru. “A point from which starships travel and resupply.”

“Nn, that is interesting,” said Lalana, pressing her hands together and staring down at the floor in apparent thought.

Georgiou shifted her attention back to Saru. “Am I to expect you at your station on the bridge when your shift begins, lieutenant?”

“Of course, captain.” There were still two hours before his shift began, which was sufficient time for a change of uniform and even a brief nap if he decided to forego any more questions.

Georgiou’s eye narrowed ever-so-slightly in judgment. She would be doubly attentive for any lapses in Saru’s performance today in light of his overnight engagement. “I look forward to it,” said Georgiou with a note of challenge. She moved to the door and hesitated, looking back at Lalana. “You should know that a table is not considered an appropriate place to sit.” 

“Oh, yes, I am well aware,” said Lalana, clicking her tongue twice.

The audacity of that did not sit well with Georgiou. “Saru, please instruct Lalana in basic social protocols before we arrive at Starbase 55. I would hate for there to be any further misunderstandings or mistakes. You may not find all species are forgiving of social impropriety.”

“Yes, captain,” promised Saru, pressing his hands together and bowing slightly in deference as the door slid shut.

“How presumptuous of Captain Georgiou to assume I have made any mistakes whatsoever,” said Lalana as she moved from the table to the chair.

Saru stood there with the sinking feeling that his involvement in this situation had not endeared him in any way to his captain. Sadly, his ganglia were in agreement.

* * *

The investigation was officially at a standstill. Unable to provide any further material benefit, Margeh and T’rond’n were instructed to return home aboard their remaining personal transport. Margeh’s final request for the _Shenzhou_ to drop them off fell upon deaf ears. Though Georgiou now found Margeh significantly more endearing after entertaining her and her husband for dinner the previous evening, the _Shenzhou_ was a Federation exploratory vessel and the pirate hunting mission was already well beneath its regard. To perform not one but two civilian transports on top of this would be rubbing salt in the wound.

Curiously, the Dartarans expressed a desire to bid farewell to Lalana. Georgiou had Saru escort the lului to the shuttlebay. She arrived as cheerfully irreverent as ever, bounding across the bay with a pair of leaps long enough that even Saru would have had trouble replicating the distance had he been inclined to display that level of informality while on duty. She came to an abrupt stop between Georgiou, T’Vora, and the Dartarans. The extra joint in her legs made the motion seem entirely effortless.

“I had a very interesting time on your estate,” was Lalana’s greeting. “I learned so very many things about trade and business from watching you work.”

The spiky ridges along Margeh’s jaw visibly tightened. “You...”

“I also learned so many things about ‘confidence,’ a word which has two meanings in the human language. One of them is self-assurance and the other is secrecy.” (Absent Saru for the past few hours, Lalana had been engaged with a communications officer, Paxton, in a linguistic survey both were finding entirely fruitful.) “Confidence in hand and head equally. Which into which, I wonder? Water or sand?”

T’rond’n seemed to shrink slightly, looking at Margeh for some sort of sign. The female Dartaran opened her mouth faintly, the spikes of her teeth showing in a way that felt strangely non-threatening—this was a Dartaran display of humility. “You know the lesson of Karletin?”

“As well as you,” said Lalana.

Of the three Starfleet officers in observation, only T’Vora recognized what Lalana and the Dartarans were discussing because she alone had taken the time to parse the Dartaran cultural archives to the level of detail required to catch the reference. D’rannur was a mythic philosopher (analogous to the father of Vulcan logic, Surak) who originated a Dartaran philosophy called the Head and the Hand. In this philosophy, male Dartarans were tasked with commerce, production, logistics, and trade, while females dominated sciences, culture, and spirituality. It was a primitive binary gender philosophy that espoused female intelligence and male efficiency as two components required in balance for a functional society. Unlike many other such primitive philosophies in various bi-gendered species across the galaxy, the Dartaran version persisted and defined their society to this day.

The tale of Karletin was found in the D’rannic Codices—a supplemental set of texts describing D’rannur’s life and offering largely anecdotal parables of dubious historical accuracy. Karletin was a brother of D’rannur’s mate who violated the sanctity of the homestead by selling original notes and writings to finance a business venture. When D’rannur discovered what had happened, she sabotaged Karletin’s business by mixing water into his sand pits and turning them to mud. The moral was that, like sand and water, the Head and the Hand ought to remain separate, and that betraying the homestead would lead to muddy waters. (Dartarans loved sand and water, but only separately, never together.)

The story was considered apocryphal among scholars because Karletin appeared only in this one tale and there were no uncontested historical records to support his existence, but it was enduringly popular and often featured in Dartaran wedding vows.

T’Vora realized that Lalana was essentially telling the Dartarans she had the ability to violate the sanctity of their homestead given the time she had lived with them, but also that she had no intention to do so, and she was saying this in a manner that demonstrated an almost frightening ability to obfuscate the subject matter at hand.

“Then do not make mud,” was Margeh’s solemn reply.

“I wish we could have helped you more, and sooner,” said T’rond’n.

Lalana slid towards T’rond’n and stretched up, pressing her hands onto his chest for balance and flicking her tongue out into his mouth, running the tip across his teeth.

Margeh’s response was a shriek of displeasure. “Stop that!”

“Please be mindful of your gums,” said Lalana, withdrawing and settling back down onto her haunches so she was at waist height.

Saru was startled by every aspect of this exchange: the rudeness of it in light of Georgiou’s recent admonition about impropriety, the intimacy of the action, the familiarity it seemed to require, Margeh’s sharp objection, and the vague sense that this was something T’rond’n and Lalana had done in the past when T’rond’n considered Lalana a lower, animal-level life form. It was a very uncomfortable train of thought.

Margeh grabbed T’rond’n’s arm and yanked him half a step closer to her. “How dare you,” she said.

“You did not mind this yesterday,” said Lalana. “Has something changed since then?”

Margeh hissed and T’rond’n’s jaw spikes bristled slightly in affront. They bid Georgiou a significantly more standard farewell and stepped into their transport.

As the shuttle slid through the bay forcefield, Georgiou announced, “Saru, until further notice, you are relieved of bridge duty. Please focus fully on assisting Lalana acclimate to Federation society.”

It was a significant blow to Saru’s already waning confidence. He stiffened. “Yes, captain.” As they made their way back to the guest quarters, Saru consoled himself with the thought that Georgiou’s assignment was not truly an indictment of his abilities and performance. It was more likely a redistribution of resources to where they were needed most. Not only was Saru the person on the ship who knew their alien guest best, he was also possessed of a sterling reputation for impeccable good manners.

Georgiou was entirely a great captain, Saru decided. Even though she clearly held no love for Lalana, she was doing everything she could to ensure that Lalana had the knowledge necessary to succeed in her new Federation existence.

He approached the topic as delicately as he was able once they were in privacy of the room and they had retaken their position at the dining table—both of them seated in chairs now. “Lalana, if you will recall, the captain advised against actions which would be construed as impolite. I must inform you that your behavior with T’rond’n was entirely so.”

“Yes, I am aware,” said Lalana.

This shocked Saru. “Then why did you behave in this manner?”

“Dartarans are very territorial about their mates,” she explained, which was not the answer to the question Saru had been asking.

He thought a moment. “I am aware of the unforgivable offense that Margeh and T’rond’n have committed, both in hunting you and removing you from your planet, but they were very willing to help us correct these issues and assist you. Perhaps they would have helped you sooner had they been given the chance.”

Lalana twisted her head almost a hundred and eighty degrees. “Did you think their words were true? They are sorry for the situation now because they have been exposed. Had I attempted to broach the subject to them directly during the years I spent with them, they would have done everything in their power to avoid the perception of wrongdoing.”

There was a note of darkness in that assessment which gave Saru pause. “I apologize. I do not mean to doubt your knowledge of your former captors.”

“No, that was wise of you. To you, I am hardly a known quantity.” Lalana shifted in her seat, sitting up straighter and gripping the edge of the table with her heterodactylic hands, two fingers above and two below. “Everything is about perception, Saru. The universe we see is what we know, though it is not what is, because we cannot see everything.”

Saru could see himself in her eyes, so immense and reflective were the glassy surfaces of her unblinking lenses. “We should commence with reviewing some basic diplomatic protocols,” he said simply.

“Very well, but may I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Minoru”—this was communications officer Lt. Paxton’s given name—“has told me there are no trees for climbing on a starbase, and no ponds to swim in. I very much wish to climb trees and swim again. May I go somewhere with trees and water?”

“I will compile a list of suitable candidates for you.”

“There is no need. I already know where I wish to go.”

* * *

The request was significant enough Saru felt it warranted informing Georgiou. The moment he did, a new problem cropped up: because she did not register on sensors, the holocomm system in Georgiou’s ready room was unable to render Lalana’s form properly, distorting and twisting her shape into something unrecognizable. Georgiou switched the signal to audio-only.

“I would like to go to Risa,” said Lalana’s translated voice.

“Risa?” echoed Georgiou.

“Yes. I have heard it is the most pleasant planet in the galaxy.”

There was no doubting Risa was a paradise like no other, but Georgiou inwardly doubted if Lalana would fully appreciate the pleasures the planet had to offer given her non-humanoid physiology. Then again, Risians were nothing if not accommodating, so perhaps she would.

“That can be arranged,” promised Georgiou, “though you will have to travel there from the starbase.” Lalana agreed to this condition wholeheartedly.

It was a shame that the signal was only audio. If they had been able to see one another, Georgiou and Lalana would have recognized a sympathetic similarity between them. Lalana was spinning her hands in a move of contentment that entirely matched the faint smile on Georgiou’s face at the memory of Risa.


	4. The Certainty of Small Things

With a course laid in for Starbase 55, the USS _Shenzhou_ entered the final phase of its regular duty roster: the graveyard night shift. It was an eight-hour window for the majority of the crew to rest and would put the ship on target for arrival at the starbase first thing in the morning.

Neither objective was realized. At 0441, a call came in that only the Shenzhou could possibly hope to answer in time.

Georgiou awoke to an emergency comm from the graveyard shift chief, Commander Penning. “Captain, USS _Triton_ has sent a distress signal. They’ve run into the pirates. ETA twelve minutes.” The _Triton_ was an old workhorse of a ship, slated for decommission in less than six months, its captain on the cusp of retirement. It had been assigned to the same pirate search as the _Shenzhou_ owing to the vastness of the territory in need of scouring.

“I’m on my way.” Thirty seconds later, the general call went out for all hands to battle stations.

T’Vora was already in the turbolift when Georgiou stepped inside. The doors opened onto the bridge and Penning immediately vacated the captain’s chair with an update: “Seven minutes.”

“Thank you, commander,” said Georgiou, smoothly settling into the chair as T’Vora took up a position behind the tactical console with a curt nod, indicating the Andorian currently stationed there, Lt. ch’Theloh, should maintain his station while she observed. Penning moved to take over the operations station from the junior officer stationed there.

“Four enemy combatants,” ch’Theloh reported. “One freighter, two Andorian strike craft, and a Tellarite cruiser. The asteroid is outfitted with both heavy phasers and torpedo launchers.” The _Triton_ had done more than encounter the pirates—it had discovered their base of operations.

“Red alert,” ordered Georgiou. “Hail the _Triton_.”

The _Triton_ ’s captain, Chaudhuri, appeared as a flat image on the _Shenzhou_ ’s main viewscreen rather than a projection because unlike the _Shenzhou_ , the _Triton_ was not outfitted with a holocomm system. Chaudhuri had dark grey hair streaked nearly white along the temples and was currently shirtless, having been woken from slumber with such immediacy he had not had time to dress. He immediately launched into a terse status report. “Captain. We’ve lost our warp drive. Forward shields are compromised.”

There was a sputter of sparks behind Chaudhuri. “Aft torpedoes down!” shouted the man at the _Triton_ ’s tactical console.

“Evasive pattern Delta-6!” was Chaudhuri’s reply.

“Give me more speed,” Georgiou ordered. Someone down in engineering scrambled to divert as many power systems as could be spared to eke out enough of an increase to get them there twenty seconds sooner. Georgiou barely noticed; she was too busy prepping a battle plan and watching the movements of the enemy ships. “As soon as we drop out of warp, fire all phasers on the freighter. Disable its weapons, avoid drive systems. Torpedoes on the asteroid armaments on my mark. We must draw fire from the _Triton_. Second phaser target, the cruiser.”

“Aye, captain,” said ch’Theloh. Georgiou did not question why T’Vora was not on the station. She supposed her first officer thought the more well-rested Andorian would have sharper reaction times.

Their arrival at the battle was greeted by a salvo of phaser fire from the Tellarite cruiser and one of the smaller strike craft. The array of batteries affixed to the asteroid remained focused on the _Triton_ , which was doing everything it could to avoid or direct all hits against it, gliding around in frantic spirals on impulse engines alone. Most of the asteroid’s batteries were weapons stripped off various spaceships. It made for a hodgepodge of colorful fire in almost every shade imaginable.

Ch’Theloh carried out Georgiou’s attack plans with quick competence, enabling Georgiou to direct the helm to bring them about between the _Triton_ and the bulk of the asteroid’s attack. The freighter’s weapons went down under the focused force of the _Shenzhou_ ’s phasers. The freighter immediately turned about, heading for an escape vector. Georgiou let it go, more concerned with reducing the threat to the _Triton_.

The cruiser was a fiercer opponent. Heavily armored and shielded, it barely seemed to register the _Shenzhou_ ’s phasers.

Not that this mattered. The cruiser was a feint.

“Fire all torpedoes,” said Georgiou.

The force of the unified launch was so tremendous the command deck of the _Shenzhou_ registered the tremor. An arc of glowing pellets shot out towards the asteroid in an absolutely beautiful formation: tight enough to be focused on a small target area, but not so tight as to be taken out by an individual countermeasure.

Two torpedoes went down in the asteroid base’s attempt to respond.  The other six impacted against two batteries and triggered an explosion of yellow bursts like pustules of energy popping. The lights on the asteroid base flickered and died. A moment later, a larger, red-hued explosion erupted as the asteroid’s power reactor overloaded.

The Tellarite cruiser and the two strike craft responded to the loss of the base by breaking off their attacks and turning tail, each warping away in a different direction. The battle was won. Damage to the _Shenzhou_ was minimal. Shield systems and some minor cosmetic damage to the hull plating.

“Can you take on wounded?” Chaudhuri asked.

“Certainly,” said Georgiou. “Sickbay, prepare to receive _Triton_ wounded.”

* * *

When the alert sounded, Saru and Lalana were coincidentally in the middle of a conversation about Tellarites spurred by a line of questioning into whether all species were truly so invested in good manners. Saru had been forced to admit that the Tellarites, a founding Federation member known for their engineering prowess, preferred to initiate social contact with arguments and insults. “This is delightful,” declared Lalana. “To air grievances honestly is to facilitate forthright interactions.”

“This is not an indication that the Tellarites do not believe in manners. Their Civil Conversation is a structured approach to—”

“All hands to battle stations.”

Suddenly, the reason for the _Shenzhou_ ’s course change a minute earlier became clear. Saru’s threat ganglia shot out. “We must go,” he declared.

Lalana did not share his concerns. Her hands spun. “A battle? Between spaceships? I would like to see this. Will it be visible through the window?”

“It is not safe. We must move to the ship’s interior.”

“There is nowhere in the universe which is safe,” she replied.

“Nevertheless,” said Saru. Lalana stopped spinning her hands and followed him into the hall.

Initially, the halls were empty, but as the rest of the crew roused from a slumber Saru and Lalana did not share, crewmembers appeared and moved briskly past them to assigned locations. For some, that was engineering and maintenance support posts to stand ready to deal with any ensuing damage. For most, it was interior compartments where they would strap in and ride out the danger. Those unfortunate crew who had windowless rooms on the ship’s interior were for once lucky: they could ride out the danger in place.

Aware Lalana had no such assigned space, Saru headed for a science lab he knew would be deserted at this hour. The lab lights came on as they entered. The room contained an abundance of empty transparent aluminum chambers and monitors designed for all manner of biology experiments. A stripe of red flashed across every monitor as the ship entered red alert and the lighting dimmed to combat-ready levels.

The emergency seating in the walls was just passably suitable for Saru—less so Lalana. Her physiology was so alien she seemed likely to slip out from the safety belt in the event of a heavy shock.

“Do not worry,” said Lalana, “I will _lemalallen_ to the surface.”

This was not a concept they had so far covered. As Saru took his seat, Lalana explained. “ _Lemalallen_ is when you twine your cells into the surface of something.” The word was uniquely lului, one of those untranslatable concepts with no equivalent in English or Kelpien capable of accurately conveying the nuance of its meaning.

The _Shenzhou_ dropped out of warp and was hit by a volley of phaser fire that elicited a distinctive auditory vibration from the shields. Saru’s ganglia, which had only just slipped back into the folds along the back of his head, reemerged. Lalana continued uninterrupted with a description that would have better suited a conversation with Paxton than Saru. “The word is a compound of _lema_ , which means object, and _lallen_ , which is when two lului sit in close proximity and twine their fur together.”

The _Shenzhou_ returned fire. Saru gripped the straps on his safety belt and closed his eyes. “What—What is the purpose of it?” he asked, desperate for a conversation that would take his mind off the battle underway.

“For lemalallen the purpose is to secure yourself in a place, and for lallen, it is to experience connection with another. Lului very much enjoy physical contact.”

The gravity generators strained under the forces of evasive maneuvers, pulling them to the side. True to her word, Lalana barely moved. Her explanation continued in the calm, artificially cheerful tone of the computer’s translation.

“Though our bodies are discrete, it is preferable for us to experience being a part of a larger whole the same way our cells are a part of us, and one way is to have our discrete cellular networks in proximity with the discrete cellular networks of another.”

A tremor shook the room as all the _Shenzhou_ ’s torpedoes fired. Ten seconds later, the ship went still and quiet. The battle was over. The lighting switched from emergency settings back to regular operational levels as the red alert ended. Saru’s ganglia retracted fully.

“Captain Georgiou is a highly competent tactical commander,” was all Saru could think to say. Then: “We must remain in place until the all clear has been sounded.” It was important to keep the halls easily navigable for repair crews.

Another minute ticked by. Saru did not find the emergency seating very comfortable. “We may move about the room.” As Saru undid his safety belt, Lalana slid out from hers without undoing the latch, confirming Saru’s initial assessment.

They stood there in the science lab surrounded by empty transparent aluminum chambers, waiting monitors, and offline experimental protocols and Saru found himself at a loss. Continued conversation about Tellarites suddenly seemed unfathomably absurd. Lalana stared at him as if expecting something. Saru went to check the battle logs on one of the consoles. “It would appear we have encountered the pirates we were tracking prior to encountering you and engaged in battle with them.”

The doors slid open, revealing a woman in white silk pajamas with a snarl of honey-brown hair twisted around her head. She was not a member of the _Shenzhou_ ’s crew. Her dark, watery eyes registered surprise. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think anyone was in here,” she blurted, turning away.

“Wait,” said Lalana. “You are upset. What is wrong?”

The woman hesitated. Two _Shenzhou_ crewmen came jogging down the hall with toolkits in hand and the woman darted into the science lab. The door slid shut behind her. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “It’s just—my wife—”

“What is your name?” asked Lalana.

“Lieu—Lieutenant Yoon. Hydroponics, USS _Triton_.”

“And your friends call you what?”

“Daisy.”

“Then, Daisy, will you sit and tell me what has happened?” Lalana pressed her tail against Yoon’s arm, gently guiding her to the emergency seats.

Gradually, a picture emerged. The _Triton_ had been sweeping search targets deemed minor and unlikely during the graveyard hours and stumbled across the pirates accidentally. The ensuing battle had seen the ship’s crew roused mostly from a state of deep slumber. Yoon’s wife, Morita, was senior security chief and chief tactical officer but had been unable to reach the bridge and detoured to a torpedo bay instead to assist from there. A lucky or skillful strike by the enemy had caused the bay to catch fire mid-launch. Morita and several other wounded had beamed over the  _Shenzhou_  in the battle's aftermath and Yoon accompanied them, unwilling to leave her wife's side.

Throughout this explanation, Lalana kept her tail on Yoon’s hand. Eventually, Yoon took hold of the appendage and clutched it like a lifeline. Saru was surprised how easily comforting the young officer came to Lalana. Kelpiens, being comforted by so very little in the grand scheme of things, were not known for their skills in this area.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Yoon squeaked at the story’s end.

“Let us go find out.”

“They—they told me to leave,” said Yoon, shaking her head. The duty nurse’s exact words had been that there was nothing Yoon could do in sickbay but get in the way, which sounded harsh, except the nurse’s tone had been exceedingly sympathetic and kind.

“Forever?” asked Lalana.

Yoon hesitated. “No...”

“Then let us go. Perhaps it no longer applies.”

“I can check patient status—” began Saru, but too late. Lalana was already drawing Yoon to the door. He finished lamely, “—on the monitors.”

“The only way to truly know things is to see them with your own eyes,” said Lalana. “Anything else is an echo of the truth.”

When they arrived in sickbay, it was to the sight of a body covered by a sheet. Yoon stepped tentatively forward, her face going slack. A four-eyed Kakravite moved to block her path. He was the _Triton’s_ chief medical officer, Dr. Ek’Ez. “Daisy, no—”

“Da Hee,” called a voice. A woman with short, dark hair was on the medical slab in the corner directly to the left of the door. Yoon gasped and ran to her, stopping just short of an embrace. Burns covered the right half Morita’s body, her modesty maintained by the presence of a blanket against her chest because most of her tank top had been incinerated. She was holding a dermal regenerator in her left hand and using it on herself. Yoon scooted over to Morita’s left side and tentatively pressed a cheek against Morita’s unburnt shoulder. Morita winced as her hand fell into her lap.

Saru questioned the wisdom of infringing upon this clearly private moment as he trailed Lalana to join the couple. Neither human seemed to take much note of their alien onlookers in the moment. Yoon looked over at the body under the sheet. “Then...”

Morita swallowed. “Walter Chen. He was... inside the field. I tried... I tried to pull him out...” She shook her head. “I told him... It was my fault he was in there.”

Yoon drew back, hiccoughed in distress, and covered her mouth with her hand as big, wet tears renewed the tracks of damp salt already painted across her face. Morita’s face twisted with unvoiced anguish.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Reiko,” Yoon managed.

“You have much damage to your surface,” said Lalana, stretching up alongside Morita’s slab. “May I assist you?”

The tissue regenerator was laying on the blanket across Morita’s lap. Morita held it out tentatively. Lalana took the device and put it down on the slab’s edge, instead pressing the flat of her tail directly against Morita’s burned skin. What exactly she was doing, none of them could tell, least of all Morita, but the shock of the action was temporary distraction from the grief.

“Please let me know if there is any discomfort. I have only been in proximal contact with human cells once before.”

“No, it’s...” Morita shifted slightly, glancing between Yoon and Saru with confusion. “It feels much better.”

“If you continue to use your technology device, it will go much faster together, I think,” said Lalana.

Morita picked up the regenerator and switched it back on. “Who are you?”

“This is Lalana,” offered Yoon, drying her eyes on her sleeve. “She stayed with me while I was outside.”

“Yes, Daisy was very kind to tell me some of what happened on your ship. And this is Lieutenant Junior Grade Saru, but you may call him Saru.”

Hovering to the side, Saru gripped his hands together in discomfort. He had not given Lalana permission to extend that measure of familiarity to their guests, and as harmless as it was, he would have liked to make the determination for himself. It was one of those tiny measures of control that seemed insignificant but meant a great deal when you came from a species that traditionally had control over very little in their lives. Saru shuffled a half-step forward and craned his neck. “This is... _lallen_?”

“ _Lelu_ lallen,” clarified Lalana. “Piercing the cellular barrier to assist in repairs. Though the cellular structures of humans are different from my own, we share many of the same basic materials of life. I am providing your cells with nutrients from mine and assisting in the removal of harmful microbes. I also offer my surface as a support for repairs.”

“Thank you,” said Morita, hesitantly polite. It did seem to go faster, the two of them working in tandem, but Lalana’s choice of first aid methodology drew the attention of the _Triton’s_ doctor and he hurried over, all four of his eyes wide with alarm. The ensuing explanation of the technique did little to settle his fears, especially when his medical tricorder failed to register Lalana as a life form.

“This is an untested medical procedure,” he fretted. “There might be any number of contagions, interspecies incompatibility, radiation or...” He faltered. The tricorder failed to register Lalana, but his scan of Morita was showing significant improvement in the affected areas.

“I consented,” Morita offered, not that she actually had until now.

“Ek!” bellowed a hulking brute of a man on the other side of the room with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was shirtless and seemed to have roughly as much hair on his chest and arms as he did his head. Ek’Ez wavered.

“You will tell me at the first sign of anything and I will monitor you closely upon return to the _Triton_ ,” said Ek’Ez. The man across the room yelled again, apparently taking affront at something one of the _Shenzhou_ ’s nursing staff was doing to his leg. Ek’Ez hurried back over, shouting in reply, “I am coming, Lieutenant Larsson, please restrain yourself!” Saru startled as the aforementioned Larsson banged an angry fist on the surface of his slab and proceeded to argue loudly with Ek’Ez about the way his broken leg had been reset.

“I can’t believe him,” said Yoon softly, shaking her head at the display.

Morita was less judgmental. “Walter was his friend.”

“Was he also yours?” asked Lalana.

Somehow, the answer to this question seemed to make things worse. “I barely knew him,” said Morita. She left unexplained the details of their service together—how she had come aboard the _Triton_ six months earlier in the position of Chen’s supervisor and been assessing his performance for reassignment pending the _Triton_ ’s upcoming decommission. She did know Chen as a colleague and a marginally competent officer, but in the aftermath of his death, she felt she had not known him nearly well enough as he deserved.

Lalana shifted her tail from one patch of skin to another, asking, “Did he choose to be where he was?”

Saru decided her curiosity was aberrantly inappropriate in this context. “Lalana, perhaps...”

She ignored the half-formed warning and continued, “You said it was your ‘fault’ that this event has happened. This is not a concept my people have a word for. It is a thousand million tiny interactions which lead us to the place in which we stand. There is no one moment or person who is more responsible for any outcome. Events are a cumulative result of all events which came before them.

“In my short time with Starfleet, I have observed that all of you choose to be here, seeing the stars, which is something I can well understand. To see even a sliver of this celestial vastness is an incredible delight. If Walter Chen chose this like you and Daisy and Saru do, then he was in a place he wished to be, doing a thing he wished to do, and his life was well-lived and his death well-chosen. That, to my people, is considered the most important thing there is, to be able to choose your own death. During the years I spent with Margeh and T’rond’n, I learned that this is a rare thing. So many living creatures die in places they do not choose, doing things they do not wish to. Walter Chen was not among them. Walter Chen was in Starfleet.”

Morita took this in carefully and calmly. The sentiment of _he died doing what he loved_ was as true as it was insufficient recompense for the loss of a life. She understood that this strange alien was attempting to offer comfort, fraught as the attempt was with functionally meaningless information because neither she nor Yoon knew who Margeh and T’rond’n were or the circumstances of Lalana’s captivity up until this moment, and she also understood the most important thing of all. She smiled, mournfully but with a budding blossom of pride. “Yes. He was Starfleet.”

To everyone who wore that uniform and insignia, there was no greater memorial.


	5. Laugh It Off

Within half an hour, the situation on the _Triton_ was stable enough for its crew and medical staff to return to their own ship. Saru bid Lieutenant Commander Morita and Lieutenant Yoon farewell, wishing them a speedy recovery and offering his condolences for their loss. They vanished in a shimmer of white as the transporter whisked them home.

“Amazing!” said Lalana at the sight. “I want to be transported!”

Saru did not have the heart to tell her that someone who failed to register to most sensors was unlikely to be able to undergo the process. Lalana’s physiology rendered all of the transporter’s many safety protocols inoperable. He instead pointed out a discoloration of brown along the surface of her tail.

“Some human cells are not very polite. They attacked me as a foreign entity. Yet I am the one accused of poor manners.” Her tongue clicked a few times as she sloughed off the seemingly dead cells onto the empty surface of the slab.

Saru felt a pang of regret that the issue of propriety continued to cause Lalana such audible distress, but there was one key point of difference between cellular and macro-level interactions. “It was inadvertent, an immune response. There was no malice consciously intended.”

“I think I would have preferred it be intended,” she countered as they left the medbay. “I don’t mind it, though. All outer cells stand ready to sacrifice themselves in protection of the whole. Much like members of your Starfleet stand ready to defend the Federation. It is like you are all a lului!” Thankfully, Saru and Paxton’s conversations had finally shifted Lalana’s opinion as to the virtues of the Federation.

“It is merely a question of scale,” said Saru, finding that a curiously satisfying analogy. “Starfleet is much like the immune system of the Federation.” They even engaged with “foreign entities” in the forms of new life and civilizations, though they took great pains not to treat these entities the way Morita’s immune system had treated Lalana.

The rest of the walk might have continued in contemplative silence, their long strides making quick work of the route, but there was another thing Saru had been wondering, a story he had been piecing together from his observations. “Crying is an expression of human distress not found in Dartarans. Yet you recognized it in Lieutenant Yoon, and you said you had been in proximity to human cells previously.”

“For having such small eyes, you have seen very well,” said Lalana, spinning her hands in contentment. “Yes, there was a human known to Margeh and T’rond’n, Peter Bhandary. He was upset, so I attempted to lallen with him, but human hair is not alive, so I was unable to _liliann_.”

“Liliann?”

“A sort of... sharing of signals that makes another feel better. It is how lului transmit information in proximity and ensure there is no miscommunication. It is not possible with humans because it requires lului cells to receive the signals.”

They were back at the guest quarters. Lalana went immediately to the windows, as if she were hoping to see some lingering trace of the recent battle. The asteroid base was not visible from this side of the ship and neither was the _Triton_. It was just an empty field of stars. Lalana stared out at them in rapt attention and said, “Because I cannot liliann with a human, this time I attempted to use words to compensate. I’m not sure how sufficient they were, but perhaps I spoke enough of them for my meaning to pass through the barrier of the outside and reach the consciousness within. Do you think it worked? Can you liliann with words?”

However many words Lalana spoke, they were never going to equal the sort of bond she was describing. Saru joined her at the window. “It is unfortunate, but you are unlikely to encounter that level of clarity in communication until we locate your people and return you to your homeworld. There is a level of understanding that can only be shared by members of the same species.”

Lalana turned from the window and locked her hands tightly together. “Is that true? I will never know full understanding again because I am the only one of my kind in Starfleet?”

Humans, Vulcans, Trill, Andorians, even Tellarites—all these were species of intelligent life Saru had served alongside in Starfleet. The sad fact was, none of them really understood what it meant to be a Kelpien. “And I am the only Kelpien in all of Starfleet. There are also things which can be understood by virtue of shared circumstance.”

Maybe none of the other species in Starfleet understood what it was to be Kelpien, but Lalana had stumbled onto one truth in her attempt to liliann with Yoon and Morita: members of Starfleet chose to be there. From the beginning of the day to its end, they were all of them united by that collective understanding and purpose.

The kinship Saru now shared with Lalana was considerably more depressing. “The only ones of our kind,” she mused, tilting her head downward and pressing her hands together tightly.

Saru tilted his head to the side in sympathy. “Good manners are a method by which all species may approach each other with minimal misunderstanding. When properly observed, they provide a shared foundation for communication.”

She looked up then, her tongue clicking again. “Oh, Saru! Really?” she said, and even if it was mostly the translator talking, Saru thought he could hear a note of gentle annoyance.

“Returning for a moment to the subject of the Civil Conversation...”

* * *

As she concluded her transmission to Starfleet Command, Philippa Georgiou took genuine satisfaction in having felled three birds with one stone. The battle with the pirates, while it had not begun in a manner anyone would have chosen, had more than adequately resolved the issue of piracy in the area by destroying the pirates’ base of operations and neutralizing their leadership. The heart of the threat had been eliminated and the Dartaran Council was pleased.

As for the escaped vessels, the _Shenzhou_ was too busy assisting the _Triton_ to chase them down. That meant it would be spared the general housekeeping remaining for the assignment, bird number two.

The _Triton_ ’s need for further repairs felled the third bird. “Georgiou to Saru,” she intoned, and was rewarded with the sight of his slender form on the ready room holocomm. This necessitated her craning her neck up slightly. “You are with our guest?”

“Yes, captain, completing the assignment as or—”

“Please escort Lalana to the shuttlebay.”

Saru drew back slightly, confused. “Captain?”

“The _Triton_ will be taking her to Starbase 55.” The confusion did not abate. Georgiou gently asked, “Is there a problem?”

The next indication of distress was the way Saru’s hands touched together and twisted. He looked away in careful thought and Georgiou waited. After a moment longer than was ideal, Saru said, “The assignment you have given me, to instruct Lalana on manners, am I to continue this and accompany her?”

That was an interesting idea. Georgiou decided it was the perfect opportunity for a small test. “Do you feel it necessary? We are returning to our regular assignment. It may be some weeks until you can return to your duties if you do.”

The holocomms were not displaying Lalana, so Georgiou heard the lului’s voice without seeing her. “But we have not finished our conversation. We have barely begun.”

Georgiou watched Saru’s mouth vacillate faintly in a primordially fishlike reaction. It was excruciating sometimes, watching him process decisions. She patiently waited for the process to complete, half-expecting to see his threat ganglia emerge given the pain this exercise seemed to be causing him.

She did not see the ganglia, but neither did she receive a response that satisfied her. In the end, Saru said the one thing Georgiou had been hoping he would not.

* * *

The mess hall was abuzz with activity. Though lunch shifts varied across all conceivable hours, midday by the ship’s onboard clock was always a dining hot spot and Saru found himself surrounded by more hustle and bustle than he generally preferred. He stood in line, trying not to think too much about the proximity of the people in front of and behind him, and focused on his pending lunch order. A large, undressed salad. He did not normally eat so much in a single meal, preferring a series of light snacks that matched his species’ tendency to grab food in snatches when it was safe to do so, but the stress of recent days had finally culminated in a gnawing hunger.

He was debating returning to his quarters with the dish when he heard someone call his name. He turned to find an eager human face looking up at him with short, dark hair and the epicanthal fold he knew indicated Asian heritage. One of those subtle differentiators in human faces he had learned to identify since coming about the _Shenzhou_. It took him a moment to put the name with the face. “Lieutenant Paxton.”

The meal in Saru’s hands could have been lunch or dinner, but Paxton was clearly carrying breakfast: a bowl of oatmeal with sliced banana and cinnamon. Being on second shift, midday was his morning. “I was wondering if I could pick your mind about something? If you’re not busy.”

“I am on my lunch,” said Saru.

Paxton squinted. “So, not busy?”

“What can I assist you with?”

Taking this as invitation, Paxton moved towards a six-seater table with only two chairs occupied and Saru found himself drifting after. The pair of crewman already at the table paid them no attention. There turned out to be a padd hidden under Paxton’s tray. “I was wondering if you could look over some translations I was working on.”

“I am not a linguist,” warned Saru.

“I know, but you spent more time with Lalana than anyone.”

Paxton’s eager optimism moved Saru. “I will do what I can,” he said, looking through the padd. There turned out to be a great deal more content than Saru and Lalana had encountered in their discussions on biology and culture. A surprising amount of the new vocabulary involved botany, gardening, and cooking. “We did not discuss any of these topics.”

“No, this is stuff the _Triton’s_ computer spat out after she left. Their comms officer sent it over. I can’t shake the feeling there’s something wrong with our translation matrix.”

“Wrong how? I found the matrix to be more than adequate.” Perhaps not initially, but after the first hurdle of the translations in sickbay, the matrix had grown by leaps and bounds and proven an entirely effective communication tool.

“Thank you. I barely slept the two days she was here. Honestly, I can’t put my finger on it, but take this word here, _ilr_. The computer has it as ‘known quantity’ but I think it’s more like ‘equivalent knowledge.’ That’s not a big deal, adjusting translation to fit context, but... I get the impression lului doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t change in context. And in a weird way, the words make less sense than they seem to on the surface.”

In light of the discussion about liliann, that seemed entirely apropos. Saru opened his mouth to say as much but wasn’t quick enough to stop Paxton from jumping onto an adjacent train of thought.

“I mean, when I finally figured out that lului have no genders? That entire initial conversation on the bridge made so much more sense. She wasn’t saying she was female, she was just saying she wasn’t male!” Paxton paused only to ingest a heaping spoonful of oatmeal.

Saru realized he had fundamentally misunderstood a few details of the scientific survey. They had, of course, covered lului reproduction, which Saru knew was asexual, but he had also asked if there were any phenotypical differences between male and female lului. Lalana had said there were not, and rather than ask a follow-up to what seemed a non-issue, Saru had continued down his question list. Her exact words were, “We are structurally identical,” which was a very confusing way of saying they were genderless. Suddenly the translation matrix seemed exactly as insufficient as Paxton was suggesting.

“We should cease referring to Lalana as female,” Saru suggested.

“I offered. She said she preferred it. Think about it. She’s been with Dartarans for _six years_. Not only is their language gendered, it’s intractably so. They have four words for ‘they’ and none of them are singular and the gender-neutral one _only_ refers to objects. If you used it on an intelligent lifeform, it’d be considered an insult.” Paxton ate another mouthful of oatmeal, this time fully swallowing it before rambling on, “What’s really cool about lului is that they have _temporal_ _pronouns_. Past, present, and future. It’s the pronouns, not the verbs. Because the _action_ doesn’t change, the _frame of reference_ of the person doing it does. How novel is that? Seriously, I wish I had more time to study her language.”

For the first time, Saru wondered if he should have taken Lalana up on her request to accompany her to the starbase and beyond. He had only grazed the surface of her experiences and knowledge during their brief time together. There were still so many questions, so many things he could have helped her with. Alas, it was not to be. Saru had to find consolation in the fact he had done as Georgiou wanted by staying on the _Shenzhou_.

Paxton broke the silence again. Communications officers did have a reputation for chattiness. “I’ve been wondering, as a non-human, what do you think about using a translator to render a laugh for a species that laughs in a completely different way?” He looked at Saru expectantly, waiting with spoon in hand for an answer.

It was an odd question. Saru rarely found anything in the universe to be funny. “Humor is highly subjective. It could be... problematic.”

“You’re right,” said Paxton, resuming his meal.

Saru wondered another thing. If Lalana could laugh, what would it sound like? Sadly, their individual forays into the cosmos were marked more by occasions for sorrow than humor.

* * *

Returning to the far reaches of space was a comfort to Captain Georgiou. Out here, with little to no oversight and potential mysteries hiding behind every orbiting rock, there was a freedom to do as she wished and an autonomy that assignments like clearing out pirates for Federation allies did not provide. She sat at the table in her ready room, sipping tea as she scrolled down a list of unexplored objects and shortlisted a few candidates for exploration.

The door chimed. It was T’Vora. The Vulcan stood at stiff attention, unnecessarily formal given their years serving together. Formality made T’Vora more comfortable than any display of camaraderie, no matter how genuine. Not that T’Vora would ever admit to it—if asked, T’Vora would calmly state that Vulcans did not experience emotional discomfort and call it a non-issue. Georgiou simply knew better.

“We have entered sector H-7,” T’Vora reported. They were so far out, the sector did not yet have a designated Federation name. If they discovered some developed sentient species, it would receive one.

Georgiou gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. “Join me,” she offered, flicking her finger at the empty chair beside her own. As captain, the offer was really a command. T’Vora paused at the dispenser to order a cup of hot water with cayenne pepper and sat down.

T’Vora went straight to business, as usual. “Have you chosen our target?”

“Not yet.” Another flick of the finger sent the list on the display two screens down. Georgiou shortlisted a planet whose atmosphere long-range scans suggested contained some form of sugar. “Have you chosen your ship?”

T’Vora was not just Georgiou’s first officer, she was also Starfleet’s next new captain. The promotion was already approved and the assignment was pending only this one final decision between two ships coming off the assembly line at almost the same time: the USS _Edison_ and the USS _Buran_.

The ships were almost as different as night and day. The _Edison_ was a _Hoover_ -class science vessel and the _Buran_ a _Cardenas_ -class workhorse. Either ship promised adventure and prestige with an exceptional captain at its helm. The precise nature of those adventures would be determined by the function of the ship’s design.

“It is unfortunate that there are no pending ships named for Vulcan luminaries,” said T’Vora.

“I mentioned that to Starfleet Command,” said Georgiou. “They will look into it.” T’Vora’s eyebrow raised. “I did not say it came from you. I told them, as Vulcans have been in space longer than humanity and in light of the esteemed performance of my first officer, it seemed shameful there were no ships named for her people for her to command.”

“Thank you,” said T’Vora, because while it was true she found the dearth of ships named for Vulcans illogical, T’Vora had an interest in remaining in the Starfleet Command’s good graces. That meant keeping her criticism of their naming logic to herself. Since Georgiou hated having anyone looking over her shoulder and had no intention of joining the admiralty, she felt free to raise the objection on T’Vora’s behalf. T’Vora sipped her cayenne water. “In fact, I have made my decision and sent it to Starfleet Command. I have chosen the _Edison_.”

It was Georgiou’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “That is the less tactical assignment.”

“Though it was many years ago, I am a graduate of the Vulcan Science Academy.” It was easy to mistake the Vulcan’s stiff tone for haughty indignation. “My tactical expertise may prove a useful supplement to the scientists aboard, especially should we find ourselves in an unscientific situation.”

Georgiou smiled. “Very logical.”

“Indeed.”

“You should begin thinking what officers you wish to bring with you from the _Shenzhou_.”

“I have already constructed several lists of candidates. I will interview them and inform you as to my decisions in the coming months.”

Probably the interviews were even more formality and T’Vora already knew exactly who she wanted. Georgiou would miss that level of preparedness. “Some part of me wants to suggest you take Saru.”

“He displeased you during the incident with the lului.”

“Disappointed,” Georgiou corrected.

“I found his survey of the lului to be adequate for what it was.”

Georgiou put her cup down on the glossy surface of the table. “It was not the survey. That was an admirable attempt. It was what he did after, or more precisely, what he did not do.” She paused for emphasis. “He had an interest in the lului and I allowed him to pursue it. I went so far as to offer him an opportunity to go with her to the _Triton_. Lalana requested he go with her. Do you know what he said? He said he would do whatever I wanted. It would be one thing if he had committed to either course of action. He committed to neither.”

It could have been an angry condemnation of Saru’s greatest weakness as an officer, but T’Vora thought she detected regret in Georgiou’s tone more than anything else. “Have you informed him of this issue so that he can correct it?”

“I worry, if I do not approach him very carefully, he may take the criticism too far. He is very sensitive. Besides, he may learn to be more bold on his own.” Georgiou picked up her tea again.

“If you wish, his threat ganglia are an interesting diagnostic tool I could bring to the _Edison_.”

Georgiou smiled. “I am not ready to give up on him just yet. There is something to be said for a Kelpien overcoming its basest instincts to join Starfleet, and he did propose the course of action which enabled us to save Lalana in the first place. Saru may yet surprise us.”

“Surprise you,” said T’Vora. “There will be no ‘us’ in four months.”

“You could continue as my first officer until they name a ship for a Vulcan.” The dry look on T’Vora’s face felt even more unamused than usual. Georgiou shrugged. “I had to try.”

There was a pensive silence as they sipped their beverages. Finally, T'Vora said, “Philippa, I realize I have left something unsaid. You should know I place high value upon the time I have spent here with you as my captain.”

It verged on an admission of emotion. Georgiou’s dark eyes glinted with amusement. “Sentimentality from a Vulcan. They should give me a commendation.”

T’Vora raised an eyebrow, which was as close to a laugh as Georgiou was going to get.


	6. Fruit of the Poison Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the missions you don't go on are as important as the ones you do.

Ensign Zahra Hasimova shook like a leaf. There were pieces of security officer on her face. There were _pieces_ _of security officer_ on her _face_.

It was supposed to be a simple historical survey, cataloguing some cave paintings left by a primitive species, a few hours of fresh air and sunshine and then back to the confines of the ship. The creators of the cave paintings had gone extinct several thousand years ago. From what, they did not know, but Hasimova suspected the answer to that question was directly related to the bits of security officer on her face.

Now it made sense, Saru’s ganglia.

* * *

“Could be anything,” said Dr. Channick, scanning the valley with her eyes more than her tricorder. “Viral contagion, supervolcano blocked out the sun, their choice of building material.”

Channick, Hasimova, and a security officer were standing on a rocky outcropping partway up a cliffside near the end of a ravine. A picturesque valley of trees and fields stretched out in front of them, seemingly untouched by industry or society.

The truth was hidden in plain sight. The rock in this region—and across much of the planet—featured abundant veins of cinnabar, a striking red mineral classically used on Earth to produce the color vermilion.

Cinnabar was also notable for another reason: it was as deadly as it was beautiful, with high concentrations of mercury. The locals, oblivious to the risks, had used the material extensively in their architecture, creating towns that, in their heyday, must have been startling gems of red jutting up from the landscape. A few thousand years of sedimentary deposits later and the only signs left of these structures were areas of unusually poor plant growth, like the treeless void of grass in the valley below. The locals were long gone but the poison remained.

“Maybe they had a limited diet and starved when there was a blight,” continued Channick. Offering medical theories as to the fate of the natives was her flimsy justification for getting off the ship and enjoying the scenery.

The security officer waited for them to finish taking in the view and offered Hasimova a hand down. She smiled in thanks and he smiled back.

They picked their way along the wall of the ravine, deposits of gravel crunching beneath their feet. A broad smear of silty mud ran through the ravine’s center, suggesting that when it rained, the whole area became a river of significant depth and danger, with rapids and undercurrents capable of dragging a person under and slamming them into the rocky walls with enough force to pulverize. At present, the greatest danger was to their uniforms. The security officer’s shoes and pants were already caked up to the knees from some earlier muddy crossing. Channick and Hasimova had beamed down onto the same side of the ravine as the cave and were spared the need to repeat this indignity.

The cave was a gaping maw in the wall. It had likely formed as the result of an eddy forcing enough water against one spot to form a depression in the rock. After a millennia of repeated flooding, the depression had grown into a pocket, then a cavity, and finally a wide, open chamber with broadly sloping walls, its apex a good twenty feet above their heads. It possessed the slight chill and faintly clammy smell of a place that knew no sun.

A second security officer greeted them from inside, their escort’s partner. “Take a look,” she said, shining a light up onto the ceiling.

The paintings were high along the ceiling and walls. Strange humanoid figures, gesturing as if in welcome, or perhaps warning, because a wave was not a universal hello. The figures highest up were full-body while the ones further down were cut off at waists and knees, the pigment on the lower half of the walls long since washed away.

There were abstract markings, too. Spirals and burst shapes, a pattern of diamonds perhaps intended as constellations. Hasimova imaged them and made a note to compare the patterns against stars visible in the planet’s night sky.

“Pax is gonna be so jealous,” said the male security officer. Hasimova smiled to herself. She might have suggested Paxton accompany them, but his shift had not yet started and she wanted to be the one to index the paintings. Being assigned to the bridge as an ensign was an amazing opportunity she intended to make the most of. When these images went back to Starfleet’s archives, her name would be listed on the files and her analyses would be the initial launching point for further investigation.

“There’s one in every crew,” Channick remarked under her breath. Hasimova looked over at the security officers. The female officer was eating a protein bar. She offered her partner half and he predictably declined. The current generation of Starfleet-issue protein rations was infamous for its unpalatable flavor profile and equally long shelf life. Many people thought a willingness to eat the bars increased your chances of away team duty. Even this was insufficient incentive to convince most officers to eat the rations outside of anything but the most dire of survival situations. A friend of Hasimova’s had eaten one on a dare and declared it “pure poison.”

“I’m gonna go do some more scans,” said Channick, which was probably code for going hiking. “Try not to fall on a rock or have a medical emergency.”

“Just pictures,” promised Hasimova.

The female officer volunteered to accompany Channick. The doctor declined the company and repeated her warning not to cause any medical emergencies.

“You be careful,” said the woman. “Watch out for the Jabberwock.”

“If I find any lifeform bigger than a rabbit, it’ll be a miracle.”

“Yeah, this planet is pretty dead,” noted the male officer.

“Saru didn’t come down. You should’ve seen his ganglia.”

There had been, prior to the initial beam-down, an incident. Standing in the transporter room, moments away from mission commencement, a ganglia reaction had frozen the Kelpien in place. This was not the first time it had happened, either. Three previous incidents of varying severity had necessitated replacing Saru on the away team roster at the last moment. Today marked the fourth.

Channick was entirely dismissive of the suggestion. “He thinks _every_ planet is dangerous. It’s an evolutionary reaction to stress, it doesn’t mean anything.” A reaction sometimes strong enough to merit a medical exception, but Channick’s data had yet to reveal a conclusive correlation between the ganglia and mission outcomes. Most missions entailed some level of danger and occasionally the danger was fatal to someone. Saru’s ganglia in no way guaranteed a fatal outcome. She intended to talk to him about the issue this afternoon because enough was enough.

“Still,” said the woman. “Keeps your comms open.” Channick feigned a salute and exited.

Hasimova continued her imaging. It wasn’t enough to just get the pictures, she also took detailed material scans. The redder pigments contained cinnabar, of course.

The male officer wandered over to join Hasimova. “Do you think they looked like us?”

“Humanoid, at least, Beyond that, I can’t say.” The paintings were too crude to have any discerning features.

“Stop bothering her, Hack,” called the women.

“I’m not! Am I?”

Hasimova smiled. Hack had a thick head of dark brown hair, bright brown eyes, and a square jawline. “No.”

“See? We’re just having a conversation.” His partner rolled her eyes and went to stand guard nearer the entrance. “You’ll have to forgive Geri. They don’t train us security officers in manners. They think it’ll interfere with our ability to fight off threats.”

“Oh? So what do they train you to do?” asked Hasimova coyly. None of Hack’s subsequent boasts had anything to do with Starfleet training programs.

He was outlining an escapade involving drinking most of the available alcohol in a small Icelandic town when there was a thud from the cave entrance. Geri was on the ground, already in the process of trying to get back up. Hack rushed to her side.

“I just... had a sudden wave of vertigo,” said Geri.

“I’m on my way back,” said Channick over the comms.

“I think I’m okay.”

“Probably that protein bar you ate,” suggested Hack.

“Probably,” said Geri, sounding unconvinced.

“I told you not to eat—”

Something pulsed across the surface of Hack’s skin, like a wave of subdermal fire. He started to fall.

He did not hit the ground. His skin seemed almost to glow and then suddenly there was a wet, sucking sound as the surface of his body exploded in a spray of fat and muscle and every other element of soft tissue, the force sufficient to shred his uniform. Most of him landed on the ground, but enough of him landed on Hasimova and Geri that calling the spread of slime and cloth at their feet a human corpse was not accurate in the slightest.

Hasimova stood there, shock-still, her mouth open, feeling the dribble of viscous fluids down the side of her face.

“Doctor!” shouted Geri. “He exploded!”

A moment later, so did she, with the same pulsing ripple of energy across her skin.

Hasimova did not close her mouth fast enough. All the many words of her communications training failed her. Over the comms, all Channick could hear was her screaming.

* * *

“A parasite,” concluded Channick back in the relative safety of sickbay. “In the mud of the streambed. It was underground, so it didn’t show up on surface scans. Wouldn’t normally be a problem, but...”

Geri and Hack’s legs had been coated in mud from crossing the ravine. Hidden within the silty particles were hundreds of desperately hungry microscopic parasites. Exposure to a new food source switched them from a dormant state to one of rapid reproduction. Coupled with the human immune system’s failure to identify the parasites as a form of invasive tissue, the parasites had been able to lay millions of eggs in their new hosts. The human circulation system did the rest, spreading the eggs across every corner of the human body.

This situation was not intrinsically fatal. It turned out the parasites were easily filtered out by the transporter’s protocols once identified, but the security officers had been down on the planet for a few hours, enough time for the things to reproduce en masse. Then, when the density of eggs was at a critical mass, an enzymatic reaction caused all the eggs to hatch at once.

“Is this what wiped out the native population?” asked Georgiou.

“Maybe. Chances are the natives weren’t affected by them the way we are. The DNA of the parasites has an... explosive reaction to human DNA.” Even if there had never been any pieces of security officer on Dr. Channick, the sight of Hasimova standing there covered in splatters from both was not easily forgotten.

“It is unfortunate you were not there,” said Georgiou.

Channick bit her lip. The reaction had been so immediate, her presence would not have made any difference whatsoever. The real misfortune was that Channick had been playing archaeologist and scanning the geology of the area with her tricorder rather than the officers.

“I will have to put this on your record.”

“I understand, captain.”

Georgiou considered her chief medical officer. None of them had identified the danger in time to avert this disaster except perhaps Saru. “Perhaps we should put more stock into Saru’s ganglia.”

“Yes, captain,” said Channick.

“Do not worry. You have an exemplary service record. That this mistake has cost the lives of two of my crew is a tragedy, one that we will prevent in future. It will not end your career.”

With that, Georgiou left Channick to mull things over. Channick was having a hard time deciding what felt more insulting to her, the suggestion she cared about her career in the wake of this or the idea that it could have been predicted by Saru.

The correlation to Saru’s ganglia remained unclear. Yes, Saru’s reaction prior to the mission had been extreme enough to excuse him from beaming down on a seemingly routine task and two people had subsequently died, but on a hunch, Channick tested the parasite’s DNA on a sample of Kelpien DNA. It was entirely nonreactive. Whatever danger Saru had been sensing, it had not been danger to himself.

Inconclusive, she decided. And tragic.

There remained a question as to the parasite. The nearest computer terminal was blinking with a prompt inviting her to name the newly-discovered species for the report. There was no way she was going to name it after herself. The victims deserved a memorial, but there was something macabre in the idea of naming something for the first people it killed, and also the question of which officer to name it after. Ensign Harold Tackett had died first, but Lieutenant Geraldine Combs was higher-ranking and had a longer service record. Channick pressed a finger to record a prompt response but remained indecisive. “Com-Tack’s parasite?”

This was how the seventh planet of the Tonnata system came to be mistakenly labeled as “Comtax” for the next six months until someone in stellar cartography corrected it, and the parasite was labeled as “Comtaxan” in an even smaller error that never was.

* * *

It was normal for Saru to feel like all eyes on the ship were upon him, but today there seemed to be evidence to support this. Furtive glances, hushed whispers, and he could easily imagine what they were saying. _He knew they were going to die_.

If only he had. He knew something was wrong before the away team left the ship, but as with so many other times his ganglia reacted, he did not know why until after the tragedy. His ability lacked any clear prescience. Always there was an edge of uncertainty.

Despite this, Georgiou had taken him aside at the beginning of his shift to inform him that from now on, he should keep her appraised of his gangliar reactions. “You are a more potent force than I realized,” she said, and he thanked her and swallowed the fact he was more embarrassed by his ganglia than anything else. Captain Georgiou would never flinch in the face of death the way he did. Perhaps, he told himself, he could take solace in the fact his affliction could be of use to the captain. The idea was mildly reassuring.

His ganglia were not being particularly reassuring right now. The sensation of being watched was uncomfortable enough his only intention on his mid-shift meal break was to secure a serving of blueberries and retreat to a quieter place to eat them. He stood waiting in line for his turn at the food dispenser, his gaze stalwartly on the floor.

“You sick freak!” screamed Hasimova from the far side of the room, accompanied by the rough bray of a chair scraping across the floor. Saru’s head jerked up.

Hasimova was standing next to a seated Paxton, two trays of food on the table. Hers contained three-quarters of a sandwich and his a bowl of oatmeal. Hasimova’s hand jerked with uncertainty. Then she grabbed the bowl of oatmeal, upended it into Paxton’s face, and stormed out.

On the far side of the mess hall, a lieutenant commander from Paxton’s shift slowly clapped. Ignoring the derision, Paxton wiped oatmeal from his face and flicked the clumps onto his tray. Most of the congealed mass of food had landed in his lap by way of his chest. He did what he could to remove it. Another lieutenant at the next table offered him her napkin in pity.

Wiping down the chair, Paxton picked up both of the food trays and brought them to the service area. Then he came and stood behind Saru in line.

“Lieutenant,” said Saru uncertainly.

“Lieutenant Saru,” said Paxton, disarmingly neutral.

“Is everything alright?”

“Um,” said Paxton, squinting. “Are you asking because you want to know or are you just being polite?”

The answer was that Saru was being polite, but to say as much would ruin the intent. Saru sidestepped the question. “Ensign Hasimova seemed to be in distress.”

“I did get that impression.” It could have been a joke, but Paxton’s expression was grimly intent.

Saru reached the front of the line. He placed his order with the computer. A moment later, Paxton did the same at the adjacent dispenser when it became available. “Oatmeal. Bananas and cinnamon.” Their orders appeared at the same time and they both started towards the main entrance, awkwardly halting as they realized their destination was the same. Saru motioned for Paxton to go first.

This was all the encouragement Paxton needed to initiate a conversation. “Was it bad that I threw away Zahra’s sandwich? I didn’t think it was right to leave it there on the table. But maybe she’ll come back for it.”

Somehow, Saru doubted Hasimova was going to return to the mess hall anytime soon. “I do not think it matters. There is no shortage of... sandwiches.”

“Good point. I wonder how long I have to wait until I can apologize.” Paxton began to eat his oatmeal as he walked.

“That would depend on what you need to apologize for.”

“I asked her what it looked like when Hack died.”

Saru maintained his stride despite the somersault his mind took. “Why would you ask that?”

“That’s...” Paxton’s brow furrowed. “If I could see what it looked like, then it would be like I was there.”

Saru slowed to a stop. “I almost went on the mission.” He reached a hand up towards his head, fingers hovering inches away from his ganglia slits.

“Why didn’t you?” It seemed like Paxton was the only person on this ship who did not know.

“I sensed death.”

“Oh.”

They stood there, uncomfortably still and silent until Saru asked, “Why would you wish to see death?”

Paxton shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth and gulped it down, “It’s not that I want to see death, it’s that I wish I could’ve been there with Hack. He’s my friend. If I can picture it in my imagination, then at least in some part of my brain, I was there.”

Humans were really alien, Saru decided. He knew firsthand the visuals of his kin being butchered as food and that was something he would rather not have seen. He resumed walking and Paxton followed his lead. “The reality of the situation would likely not be the comfort you imagine.”

“Maybe. But not knowing is worse.” They arrived at the aft turbolifts and waited. “I was thinking of asking the captain if I could go to the memorial service.”

“I am sure she would allow it.”

“He has a sister, Evelyn.”

There was nothing really to say to this statement of fact. Saru offered the vaguest of platitudes. “I am sorry for your loss.” The turbolift arrived. A crewman stepped off. Saru and Paxton stepped on. “Deck five.” Paxton said nothing; his quarters were on the same level.

It was a short ride. Not short enough—the sense of shared confinement drove Paxton to resume talking as Saru tentatively ate a blueberry.

“He was my best friend. I wasn’t his, but he was the best one I had.” The lift doors opened.

“Perhaps you should speak to someone,” advised Saru, exiting the turbolift with a single graceful stride.

Paxton did not move immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m being weird and bothering you and you don’t even know me. Sorry.”

Saru stood outside the turbolift, staring at Paxton, trying to contextualize this behavior. It was very different to the reactions Morita and Yoon had displayed over the death of a man, by Morita’s own admission, they barely knew. It was also markedly different from Paxton’s confident exuberance a week ago when he had assailed Saru on the subject of the lului language. There was something tragic in the loss of that innocence. “You are... not bothering me.” It was an awkwardly difficult statement to make, since it was untrue.

Paxton exited the lift then, gaze downcast. The door closed behind him and the turbolift hummed off to its next destination. “It’s fine, I know I’m annoying. The common denominator in my lack of friendships is me.” Despite the body language, his voice was entirely unsentimental, verging on introspectively curious. “My reactions are a little... off. Eventually the novelty of my weirdness wears off and people realize they’d rather hang around with someone who falls within ‘acceptable social parameters.’” He used the hand with the spoon in it to mime half a set of air quotes. “And then they disappear. I wonder if Hack...” He fell silent. Contemplating whether or not the sole person he still labeled a friend would have ceased being his friend if only he had lived long enough was an immensely depressing train of thought.

Saru looked at the bowl of berries. “I believe you are describing the normal rise and fall of social relationships. Friendships are largely based on proximity. A change in shift, posting, or interests, and it becomes very difficult for either party to maintain the requisite interactions to continue as ‘friends.’”

Paxton looked up. “Really? It’s not just me?”

The rigid lines of Saru’s face seemed to soften slightly. “Entirely not.”

Encouraged, Paxton set off down the hall and Saru did the same, catching up to the much shorter human in all of two steps. Despite the improvement in Paxton’s demeanor, his conversational bent remained bleak. “It doesn’t change the fact everyone leaves in the end. It’s inevitable. You can’t fight the future.”

Saru tilted his head. “The future is not yet determined.”

“Isn’t it, though? The present is the culmination—the logical conclusion of all the events of the past. Our decisions are based on our experiences, so given the same history prior to this moment, we will always choose to do exactly what we do, the way we do it.”

Lalana had said something similar to Morita and Yoon. _Events are a cumulative result of all events which came before them_. Paxton’s interpretation of the sentiment was a little more extreme.

It was an extreme Saru had encountered before, in a science course at the Academy. He had not been brave enough to voice his own opinion at the time, but in the years that followed, he had developed a response and was now prepared to present it. “Determinism is a philosophy which fails to anticipate the unpredictability of quantum mechanics. If the atomic reactions which govern the firing of neurons are random, then it is possible for a multitude of outcomes even given identical circumstances.”

Though Paxton had not been in the class with Saru, he had also had this discussion before and jumped right to a counterargument also mentioned in Saru’s course. “Assuming the randomness of quantum reactions is sufficient to overpower the psycho-neurological programming on the macro level.”

“An unresolved question of scale,” allowed Saru. “If I may, there is a relevant analogy on the macro scale. If we were merely a product of our genetic programming, then I would not be on a starship. I believe in free will, Lieutenant Paxton.”

“So people have a choice and choose to tell me I’m a freak?” Saru had not foreseen this consequence of his assertion. He was at a loss as to how to respond. Paxton stopped in front of one of the dozens of doors along the corridor. “This is me.”

Saru said the only thing he could think of in reassurance. “Ensign Hasimova was in distress. I am certain she did not intend to refer to you unkindly.”

“It’s okay. It isn’t the first time someone’s called me a freak or a robot and it won’t be the last. Water off a duck’s back, right?” This time, the words were resilient, but the tone verged on upset. Paxton’s emotional state was consistently opposite the content of his remarks. “I’m gonna change. Thanks for walking with me, lieutenant.”

“We were going in the same direction,” said Saru, downplaying the charity. He was unsure what the idiom about the duck meant and had no interest in learning the particulars.

“Then I guess it’s a friendship of proximity. Beep boop!”

Saru stared.

“Sorry,” said Paxton, smiling weakly. “Robot humor. See you later.”

“Lieutenant—”

Paxton froze with his hand on the door controls.

“It would be advisable to attempt an apology to Ensign Hasimova tomorrow. You should never leave an apology too long.”

“Okay. I’ll do that.”

The door closed. Saru stood alone in the hallway, wondering at the whole conversation. Even if Paxton failed to meet the definition of proximal friend rather than mere acquaintance, Saru hoped his words had provided some consolation to the other lieutenant. He hated the thought of anyone around him suffering as a result of a misunderstanding. He set off towards his own quarters to finish the rest of his break in peace.

There was another possibility. Perhaps most people did form enduring social bonds and Saru was as odd a duck as Paxton because neither of them had much in the way of long-term friendships.

Maybe it was for the best. Deep space exploration was a high-risk undertaking and having friends meant potentially losing them in a very permanent sense.

* * *

 

In light of Georgiou’s newfound admiration for Saru’s ganglia, Channick debated the merits of calling the Kelpien in, but at the end of the day she was the ship’s chief medical officer and she had her own conscience to answer to. “Lieutenant Saru to the medbay.”

Saru arrived with wringing hands and worry written across every inch of his posture. “Dr. Channick, is there something wrong? My latest medical scan, I thought there might be an abnormality—”

Channick held her hand up for silence. “Your scan was fine. That isn’t why I called you in. Lieutenant, I need you to hear something, and I need you to really take it in, understand?”

Saru’s head jerked in alarmed confusion. It sounded like he was in trouble.

“Your ganglia. You had a bad reaction before this last mission and didn’t go down, and I signed off on that. The mission turned out to be dangerous, yes, but _every_ mission is potentially dangerous. Every moment in time is potentially dangerous. I want to make one point here, and that is what would have happened if you _had_ gone down to the planet.”

Saru recalled Lalana saying something similar during the battle with the pirates. _There is nowhere in the universe which is safe._ He found himself thinking of the lului regularly, wondering where she was in the universe and what she was doing, but far be it for him to bother her.

Channick picked up a biological sample dish. It contained a quantity of dirt. She opened it. “Put your hand in this.”

Saru tentatively complied. It was just dirt.

“This dish contains the parasites that killed Ensign Tackett and Lieutenant Combs.”

Saru’s hand jerked back. His whole body pulled away, his limbs tensing as he fought the urge to leap blindly backwards. Only one thing kept him in place. For all that he knew he should be afraid, nothing in his instincts had alerted him to danger.

Channick closed the dish. “No ganglia, right? Because this parasite isn’t dangerous to you. Just the people around you, provided we fail to take precautions.” She pulled the medical gloves from her hands and dropped them into the nearest receptacle.

The tension abated. “The danger I sensed, the coming of death... It was not my own.” It wasn’t always. Saru’s ganglia were perfectly capable of reacting on behalf of others, as they clearly had in this instance. “Perhaps if I had stopped them from going down to the planet...”

Channick took a deep breath. This was not the point she was trying to get across to him. “Saru. You are the most cautious and thorough science officer on the whole ship. When most people would logically stop looking for something, you keep checking. That’s why I know, if you had been down on that planet, you would have found the parasite.” She imagined Saru would have checked under every stone, leaf, and twig and still balked at the idea of issuing an all-clear.

Realization seized Saru. He clasped his hands and straightened to his full height. That made it even worse. There were _two_ ways he might have prevented their deaths. “I am... more responsible than I realized.”

“No, don’t go there. The responsibility is mine. I should have had this damn conversation with you weeks ago. I’m your doctor and I could have run my own scans down on the planet. None of this is on you. Besides, we can’t change what happened.”

Channick seemed to be taking all the blame on herself. Saru knew what Lalana would have said on the subject, that no one person was more responsible for any given outcome than another, but it seemed to him that of the thousand, tiny million interactions that had led to the deaths on Tonnata VII, more than a few of them belonged to him and Dr. Channick, and Saru’s rejection of Paxton’s determinist philosophy further meant the two of them could have changed things if only the past were changeable.

Saru folded his fingers gracefully together. The past was over and done. “But we can change what happens going forward.”

There was something in the way Saru said it, an unusual certitude to his tone. Channick relaxed. Most of the crew had mixed feelings about their resident Kelpien and his many idiosyncrasies, but Channick knew there were several ways to define _intelligence_ and her favorite was “the capacity to exceed evolutionary instinct.” For all his fears and struggles, Saru was a highly intelligent officer.

“Wash your hands,” she told him. “Those parasites will kill most anyone else here.”

* * *

The third planet orbiting Bepi 113 was a maelstrom of trionium gas and electrically charged particles. Drifting a safe distance away, the _Shenzhou_ was witness to an impressive display as ribbons of plasma discharged across the atmosphere in a pattern not unlike the way the genetic incompatibility had danced beneath Ensign Tackett’s skin—a similarity known only to Ensign Hasimova, who repressed a shudder as she observed the phenomenon from her post on the bridge. Her nominal acceptance of Lieutenant Paxton’s apology had not extended to providing him the requested description.

There was no way to beam down through the atmosphere to investigate the anomalous readings coming from the planet’s surface. They would have to take a shuttle. As the away team donned EV suits and the engineers triple-checked the shuttle reinforcements, Saru could not repress the violent reaction of his ganglia.

The ensign beside him eyed the ganglia nervously, reminded of Tackett in an entirely different way. This felt like the prelude to Tonnata VII all over again.

It was hard to miss the staring. “Do not concern yourself, ensign,” said Saru.

“But...”

“If there is danger, then I will assist in handling it.”

The ensign relaxed. If Saru was willing to go down there, there was no reason for any of them to be worried.

There was plenty of reason, of course. The ensuing chaos of another mission gone dangerously awry entirely justified the appearance of the ganglia, but when the unstable electrical field produced a series of dangerous plasma waves that threatened to fry the shuttle and strand them on the surface or worse, Saru deflected the waves away from their position by polarizing the trionium gas around the shuttle, rendering it anathemic to the charged particles, and they all made it back to the ship in one piece.


	7. If You Never Ask

“She said I was his favorite person on the ship.”

It took more than two weeks for Lieutenant Paxton to return to the _Shenzhou_ owing to the ship’s mildly erratic exploratory route through the sector and the unpredictable availability of shuttlecraft for nonessential personnel transport, but return he had, with a gift of dried seaweed as justification for his presence on Saru’s doorstep. Now he was prattling on as if their prior conversation had never ended.

From Paxton’s perspective, perhaps it hadn’t. His first words to Saru were, “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” and then he launched into recounting the general details of Ensign Tackett’s memorial and Saru wondered how long was an appropriate length of time to entertain this unexpected exchange of words without seeming rude. Paxton had brought a gift and lost a friend, both things which merited extra consideration, but would the human lieutenant be aware of the point at which his presence became an intolerable imposition? Paxton’s obtuseness went above and beyond the norm. Most people were unaware of the point at which their presence became uncomfortable owing to a hefty degree of self-involvement, whereas Paxton seemed completely aware of it but unable to stop himself.

The subject of Paxton’s present description was Harold Tackett’s sister, Evelyn. “So I told her what you said about proximity, that Hack probably would’ve stopped talking to me and disappeared eventually. And he did, sort of.”

Standing there, box of seaweed in hand, Saru was shocked. It did not sound like an entirely appropriate conversational tangent for a memorial. His mental image of Paxton relaying this information to the grieving girl was borderline unforgivable.

“Do you know what she said?”

“I do not,” said Saru.

“She said there’s no such thing as proximity, because everywhere you’ve ever been is a fixed point in time and nothing can change it. So every moment you spend with someone in the past is permanent, for better or worse, and that means Harry’s only gone if you think the past stops existing, and I don’t think that, so...” Paxton smiled, weakly hopeful.

It was a very cerebral sentiment to conjure up on the spot. Saru wondered if Evelyn Tackett had known loss already or formulated the concept as a result of something else. “That is one way of looking at it.”

“Yeah. Make sense, the future is fixed as much as the past because they both continually exist.” (Saru avoided engaging on the subject and was relieved when Paxton moved on.) “Though, she also said Hack wouldn’t have stopped talking to me, which is an easy thing to say of a dead man, but she said she’d prove it.”

Saru’s head tilted. “How?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does Ensign Tackett’s sister do for a living?” Perhaps she was a quantum engineer or theoretical physicist engaged in applied temporal mechanics working on some sort of mirror or bridge in time, making that statement optimistically plausible.

“She’s a researcher for GNN.”

A journalist would not possess the requisite scientific training to breach time itself. Perhaps she had worked on a story involving temporal science. If so, she had likely been misled by the sensationalist tendency of journalists to reinterpret research into pithy headlines, conflating experiments with effective technology. Journalism was very good at igniting public imaginations and wildly ineffective at conveying the true rigors and incremental developments of real science.

Thankfully, Paxton either realized he was imposing on Saru or ran out of conversational points to make. His voice took on a tone of finality as he said, “Anyway, I know Kelpiens don’t like processed food, so I promise there’s no additives or anything in the seaweed. My gamma prepped it herself.”

“Thank you,” said Saru.

“I’ll see you around, lieutenant.”

Saru closed the door at last, glad for the chance to return to spending his off-duty hours reviewing new species reports. He opened the corner of the gift box and took a piece of seaweed. It had the delightfully robust, salty taste of Earth’s Pacific Ocean. Kelp for a Kelpien. Anyone else might have been making a joke at Saru’s expense, but there was no denying his species loved the stuff. Coming from Paxton the gesture was, he decided, entirely a thoughtful one.

* * *

It was entirely obvious to Captain Georgiou. In the weeks since Tackett’s and Combs’ deaths, Ensign Hasimova’s work had suffered. The young officer was struggling in a way reminiscent of her first few weeks on the ship and Georgiou decided it was time to intercede.

The pot of tea was already ready when Hasimova arrived in the ready room, looking the very picture of youthful promise and potential. The soft lighting seemed almost to glow across her dusky cheekbones and the coil of hair atop her head was as elegant as it was stiffly unmoving. She greeted Georgiou with confident deference and took the seat and cup of tea Georgiou offered.

“It has come to my attention that, since the incident on Tonnata VII, you have not been entirely yourself.”

To her credit, Hasimova did not reply immediately. After a considered moment, she angled her head expressively and looked at Georgiou with widely sympathetic eyes. “It’s been hard since what happened.”

“Of course,” said Georgiou, entirely neutral. “It was a violent event you witnessed. More so because it was unexpected.”

“They were just, there one moment and the next...” Hasimova dabbed at her eye with her finger. “But I’m fine, captain, really. It’s simply the nature of life out here. Sometimes it surprises you in terrible ways.”

Georgiou sipped at her tea. “Terrible indeed. But death is unavoidable, you must be resilient when you encounter it. You never know when we will find ourselves in a position which requires us all to be at our best. Especially in this sector.”

The finger dropped away from Hasimova’s eye. “Yes, captain. I won’t let this affect me again.”

For all the trauma, Hasimova pivoted from distress to resolve admirably quick. “It is important as well that we take time to process and mourn. My ready room is available if you need to talk.”

“Thank you, captain. I’m promise, you won’t need to call me in again. I’ll make sure my work going forward is top notch.”

The assertiveness, the intensity. It hinted at an ambition within the younger woman. Georgiou’s lips pressed together in approval. Hasimova reminded her a lot of herself at that age. Did the young ensign have the same steel and the same hunger? Georgiou returned her teacup to the surface of the table. “I have always found martial arts to be a fine method of focusing one’s thoughts. Do you have experience in hand-to-hand combat?”

Hasimova seemed to instinctively shift forward to the edge of her seat, leaning towards Georgiou with eager interest. “Only the basics at the Academy.”

“Were you any good?”

“Promising,” said Hasimova with a faintly hapless shrug. “I would have liked to have done more.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I already had enough credits in Communications and I wanted to graduate. There was an opening on your ship.”

Georgiou’s finger traced the thin curve of the teacup’s handle. There was no mistaking the fact Hasimova was on the ship because Georgiou was in command of it and this fit well with the reason Georgiou had assigned Hasimova to the bridge.

Taking the silence as invitation, Hasimova ventured, “If you have any suggestions as to martial arts I could use to supplement my workout routine, I’d love to hear them. Not that I want any special treatment, captain. It’s enough that I get to be on the bridge. I know how lucky I am.”

Index finger curling around the handle, Georgiou lifted the teacup to her lips with another smile. “Nonsense. It is my honor to mentor young officers in Starfleet. Exceptional potential deserves exceptional recognition.”

* * *

The loose pants and top of the basic white practice uniform did far less to display Hasimova’s assets than the snug lines of a Starfleet uniform, but as Georgiou observed the ensign’s inexpert attempts to replicate the basic forms of wushu, she was pleased by the potential on display. “It will take many years, but you may yet have the makings of a fine martial artist. If you keep with it and practice daily.”

They were in Georgiou’s private gym, a small room with an exercise mat and palm fronds decorating the back wall for a touch of subtle tropical nostalgia. Hasimova’s work had entirely returned to form the past few days, meriting the minor reward of a private review to ensure Hasimova’s initial forays into martial arts were proceeding soundly. Far be it for Georgiou to let a beginner under her general guidance develop bad habits in the absence of competent oversight.

The doors swooshed and T’Vora entered. Her textured, slate grey Vulcan outfit was more form-fitting than the humans’ attire, but the design and function were similar. “Captain, ensign,” she greeted. Hasimova straightened to attention.

“I thought it would be worth showing you what these skills can do at a high level of expertise.”

Hasimova bowed her head stiffly and backed off the mat. T’Vora took a moment to stretch with some _Sha’mura_ exercises then stood ready for Georgiou’s approach.

The demonstration that followed was slow enough to follow, but brutally forceful. Georgiou drew herself straight up, locked eyes with T’Vora, and launched into a quick forward jab. T’Vora only barely avoided the full force of it, shifting her torso just enough for the jab to slide past her waist and responding by bringing her own arm down, attempting to lock it around Georgiou’s, but Georgiou was expecting the counter and pivoted in a twist designed to turn T’Vora’s locking motion against her. A leg sweep followed that, while it did not connect, forced T’Vora to give up the advantage of her balanced stance and enabled Georgiou’s responsive arm-lock to fully engage.

The grapple lasted only a moment. Georgiou flipped T’Vora over her shoulder and onto the mat. T’Vora landed with a graceful roll and was instantly back on her feet, as smoothly if she had never hit the ground. She came at Georgiou with a leg sweep that succeeded in throwing the captain onto her back, but Georgiou rolled away before a second attack could land and kipped-up into a ready position again.

T’Vora began the second salvo, pushing close to Georgiou in a rapid exchange of jabs and punches almost balletic in pattern. The quick succession of perfectly matched strikes was a masterclass in physical strategy. The two combatants struck and countered with speed and precision, the muffled smacks of contact through their clothes like an uneven staccato of sharp applause. Neither took the clear upper hand—though attempts were made on both sides to sneak in attacks that might tip the balance—and after a minute both withdrew to a short distance to reset.

In the third clash, they kept more distance, circling with a focused intensity that momentarily rendered the ensign in the room functionally nonexistent. Georgiou’s gaze was dark and unblinking, T’Vora’s almost reptilian in its calm. When they launched at once another, Hasimova flinched in surprise, totally unable to predict their attacks and timing. All she could do was watch in awe as Georgiou kicked and T’Vora blocked and ducked under a punch, her own punch going wide. Georgiou danced away with a sharp spin that made her sleeves ripple and snap in the air.

Georgiou seemed to turn on a pinpoint so small she might have been one of a thousand dancing angels. Her retreat transformed into an attack: a ferocious left kick slammed across T’Vora’s torso and staggered her. Giving no sign as to the pain she must be experiencing, T’Vora attempted to hook Georgiou’s leg with her arm, but Georgiou flexed out of reach. T’Vora wove beneath Georgiou’s leg and came up on the other side with a backhand fist that struck Georgiou in the shoulder. Not being a Vulcan trained to hide all semblance of emotion, Georgiou winced and air hissed through her teeth.

Undaunted, Georgiou used T’Vora’s proximity to her advantage, finally executing the long-threatened leg sweep, but it was like no leg sweep Hasimova had ever seen. Without even fully bringing her left leg down, Georgiou leapt up, her right leg hooking T’Vora and propelling both of them into the air in a spin. The impact of Georgiou’s leg into T’Vora’s body transferred all the upward force into the Vulcan, pushing Georgiou back down towards the mat as T’Vora continued her ascent. Georgiou landed easily on her back. T’Vora had to bring her hands up to avoid landing on her head and went sprawling. For all it seemed ungraceful, the fall was reflexively adroit. A single muscle out of place and T’Vora could have broken her neck.

Hasimova was oblivious to the danger. To her, it seemed simply a wonderful display of strength, skill, and tactics. She lightly clapped her hands.

T’Vora and Georgiou rose from the mat. T’Vora pressed a fist into her palm and bowed to Georgiou. Georgiou mirrored the action and turned to Hasimova. The applause had already faded into memory, but even at its peak, the sound had completely failed to convey the immense respect and wonder in Hasimova’s eyes. She was thoroughly awed. Georgiou said warmly, “There is as much potential in your body as there is in an entire starship. More, because a starship cannot do more than it was built to do, whereas you have the ability to shape yourself in any way you choose.” Hasimova only nodded, still overwhelmed. “Continue with your practice, and when we have time, we will check the progress of your forms. Remember, foundational knowledge is the key to mastery.”

“Yes, captain.” Hasimova copied the fist and palm bow and left.

Absent the ensign, Georgiou hastily chided T’Vora, “You did not need to make it so easy.”

T’Vora stared unflinchingly. “If you wished to make an impression on the ensign, then it would seem to have served its point.”

Out in the hall, Hasimova smiled to herself. Being called into the ready room as a result of poor performance could have gone any number of ways, but by God’s own grace, the encounter had turned into an entirely advantageous opportunity, and Georgiou was none the wiser as to the real reason behind the dip and recovery in performance.

* * *

When Saru saw Paxton again, it was in the usual place: the mess hall as Paxton’s breakfast crossed with Saru’s lunch. Today, though, there was no oatmeal. Paxton was sitting at a table along the wall by the door, bent over a padd, intently reading something.

Saru took his lunch—a salad of kale, parsley, and beets—and was intending to conduct a circuit of the ship’s corridors as he ate when he noticed Paxton furtively dab his sleeve against his eyes and then wipe it across the padd in front of him.

“Lieutenant?”

Paxton looked up, his eyes as salty as Saru’s preferred food flavoring. “Oh, hi, Saru.”

Saru wondered what to make of this latest disparity between emotion and tone. “I do not wish to pry, but perhaps you should speak to Dr. Channick regarding your recent loss. She is an excellent resource for crew welfare.”

Paxton blinked. “It’s not... I mean, yeah, it is about that, but it isn’t. It’s...” He looked down at the padd, momentarily lost for words, then offered it up to Saru.

It was a letter. Glancing at the first few sentences, Saru could tell the source of the letter was Evelyn Tackett. She was thanking Paxton for attending the memorial, though from the details she provided, it seemed Paxton had elected not to fully participate in the service. Despite this, she was grateful for the time they had spent talking afterwards. “This seems personal.”

“Isn’t it the most beautiful letter you’ve ever read?”

Saru scanned a little further. Nestled in the third paragraph was an assurance Ensign Tackett would never have abandoned Paxton as a friend, and since he was dead, she intended to continue contacting Paxton in his stead. No temporal science required.

More interestingly, in the next paragraph, she asked three questions: why did Paxton not initiate contact when people were removed from proximity, what would he conclude from the lack of contact if he were in their position, and what question would he ask someone on the other side of the situation if he could be assured of an answer of complete honesty? The letter ended a two lines after with a promise that Paxton need not answer anything or reply and she would continue to write him, and the valediction “Enduringly Yours, Evie.”

Saru immediately grokked Evelyn’s meaning: it took two sides of zero contact to break a connection. He also saw the flaw in her logic. It did take two sides, but the fact was no one on the other side had ever made any effort to remain in contact with Saru. Either everyone was too shy to reach out or, more likely, the true impetus to do so was far rarer than Evelyn suggested. Proximity still potentially won out.

“It is... nice,” Saru concluded, the words an exercise in forced politeness. He returned the padd. “Are you not eating today?”

A quick look at the nearest time display confirmed the end of the hour was approaching. Paxton’s eyes went wide. He jumped up and ran off to procure some oatmeal before his shift started, providing Saru the perfect opportunity to exit the mess hall and eat his lunch in peace.

* * *

When Saru’s shift ended four hours later—an uneventful one, mostly spent surveying an asteroid field—he found himself thinking about Evelyn’s letter. As dismissive as he had been in the moment, it did potentially merit investigation. A small scientific experiment.

Problem was, he had no idea how to reach his intended subject. There seemed to be no active listing for her on the Federation registry. On a hunch, he called Risa.

The man who answered would have been deemed alluringly attractive by most species in the quadrant, but Risians, like humans, had a bit more hair than Saru found appealing. His greeting was the standard “warm welcomes” line that practically served as a planetary motto. “Forgive me for the imposition, but a friend of mine was traveling to Risa and I was wondering if she had arrived and might still be present.”

“Certainly, it’s no trouble at all, I’m happy to help. Name and species?”

“Lalana. Her species is called lului.”

The man paled. “Could you please hold a moment?”

“Certainly,” said Saru, far more calmly than he felt because something was clearly not right.

A minute later, a new face appeared—one Georgiou would have recognized, though the woman was not presently wearing the low-cut top that had left such an impression on the captain and everyone else in the ready room. She was dressed in a floral print robe and the waves of hair that normally fall around her shoulders were twisted into a set of rollers on her head. “Hello—” She froze, a glimmer of realization overtaking the worry in her eyes. “You must be Saru.”

Tendrils of ganglia wriggled out into view. “Yes, I am Lieutenant Saru, of the Federation starship _Shenzhou_. Who are you?”

A twist of ugliness marred the woman’s otherwise perfect features as the worry returned and spread without reserve across her face. “My name’s Sollis.”

“I am attempting to reach Lalana.”

The next two words were a full confirmation of Saru’s rising fears—fears Sollis seemed to share:

“She’s missing.”


End file.
